Pirate Hooker

Along the road trip to Florida, I visited my daughter in Fort Polk, Louisiana, where she lives with her handsome hubs, an adventurous army guy. Before I could get on base, I had to present my ID, auto registration, and car insurance. Why car insurance is necessary to roll into army territory, I have no idea. I saw no tanks to accidentally run into. Anyway, I just said, "Sir, yes sir!" I am nothing if not cooperative in the face of uniforms.

Because I'd been carting around traveling paraphernalia, my wallet and ID happened to be sleeping deep in the bottom of my purse. As I was fishing for it, my cell phone rang loudly from somewhere in the same vicinity. It was a ringtone that, well, I just don't know how it got on there. Seriously. What rude person would play such an outrageously inappropriate joke on me? Frankly, if I knew who it was, I'd totally take them out of my will.

While I panicked in the ultra-quiet-you-could-hear-a-pin-drop army office, the very gruff-looking, tough-talking army guys (with loaded side arms) sitting on the other side of the desk -- who never *EVER* smile -- heard this repeatedly:

Yeah, hit that PLAY button about ten more times, and you'll hear exactly what those guys heard. Like the BP oil well 5 miles down, I could not cap that sucker off! Those stoic army guys stared me down. Clearly they did not appreciate my purse mocking them. My daughter and sister's mouths gaped as wide as their eyes. I could only laugh like a dork, Ha, ha ha. Not YOU! YOU GUYS are totally NOT smelly pirate hookers! Honest! Sirs!

Still no cracking one iota of a smile from Misters Regimental. But believe it or not, they let me on base.

Cool. I mean, Sir, yes sir!

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