Had a bit of a to-do with the Commanding Officer's wife last week. Bearing in mind the CO is my husband's uber-boss and therefore God in human form, it was pretty much like falling out with the Virgin Mary - were the Virgin to have Crabtree and Evelyn hand cream in her downstairs loo and a penchant for Bollinger.
It all started early in the week with a supper party for wives at her house. I should have had an inkling of things to come when I mistook her husband (aka God) for a wine waiter - well I'd never met him before so how was I to know - and things went downhill from then on.
I will spare you the details, but it all culminated with a full and frank discussion over coffee at her house at the end of the week.
Initially the atmosphere was as frosty as her hairdo (actually that's a bit unfair as her hair is quite nice, but it does remind me a bit of icicles); however, as I found it impossible to take the moral high ground, submerged as I was underneath my sticky, grumpy two-year-old twin daughters, things soon sorted themselves out and we are now best friends. Well, I have said I will start to come along to coffee mornings etc. at least.
Hey ho.
Managed to briefly escape it all and meet some non-military freinds at a park on Sunday, who also have three children. They are in the enviable position of not living in the same street as their boss, on the same estate as their boss's boss and all their co-workers. Do you know, I don't think they even live in the same town as any of their work collegues - what bliss! It was lovely to see them but of course cut short as my husband had to leave to do some pre-deployment training down south. Well, we have had him home for all of eight days, since coming back from his last overseas jaunt with the army, so we should be grateful I guess.
So it's back to camp and back to being simultanously a single parent and modern-day Stepford wife...