August 24th

I am going to kill him.

No…first I am going to make his life a living hell…and then I am going to kill him.

I can see it now…next time Flint even tries to enter the women’s quarters a voice is going to sound over the PA - “Dead Man Walking”.

He has opened that big mouth of his for the last time.

You are probably wondering what happened…or in the words of the ever so perfect Scarlett ‘I’m in such a great relationship with a man who has so many issues you don’t know where his history stops and his personality begins that I can pass judgment on everyone else’s like dear abby on steroids’ O’Hara…

…”What has he done NOW?”

Grrrr…Grrrr…

Hopefully I can write and eat at the same time. I have gone through one quart of Ben and Jerry’s and I am about to start my second.

God…I’m too old for this. I have a Master’s degree from a prestigious university, I have traveled the world and seen things most people only dream of, I have lead troops into battle and killed men with my bare hands, and yet my personal life is shaping up to be a laughable parody of teenage melodrama.

AGH!

We were at Stalker’s house. Yes…his house, not his quarters on base. It might surprise you to know that many of the Joes here have wives and families outside our little top-secret team. It isn’t easy being a military family, but being the wife or child of a Joe is probably the worst. Away for months on end, in the line of fire more often than not, only the strongest marriages survive.

There are a couple of divorcees on the team. They will tell you all about it.

Stalker has managed to find a balance, and I think it has a lot to do with his amazing wife. She is one tough lady…runs her house with a precision and ruthlessness that would put Beachhead to shame. Stalker himself is a loving husband, from what I have seen of the two of them together…and he loves his kids.

Kids…the reason I am here pigging out on ice cream…

Anyhow, we were there for his annual barbeque, and as usual the place was filled to the brim with kids. Screaming, running, playing, fighting, crying, ketchup stained children.

Its not that I don’t like children, its that I don’t know what to make of them. They are all little mysteries to me, I have no idea what to say or do around them. You certainly can’t converse with them like adults (if have you ever tried to reason with a three year old you know what I mean), and you never know what the hell is going on in those little head of theirs when they stare at you with their small stunned eyes. Last time I held a child it screeched and screamed until I was forced to put it down. It quieted immediately, and the mother…a good friend of mine from childhood…told me it was colic.

Yeah right…

We were all sitting on the porch sipping our beers when it happened. Stalker, who had noticed me tense as his youngest crawled towards me, laughed and told me jokingly that he doesn’t bite.

I smiled uncomfortably and politely refused when he asked if I wanted to hold him for a bit. Then, much to my horror…Flint, who had probably had too much to drink at this point and surrounded by other equally drunk and testosterone filled friends, picked the baby up easily and placed it on his lap as if the whole thing was just as natural to him as throwing a grenade…then laughed and said the following…and I quote:

“Don’t take it personally, Lonzo…Burnett here is what you might call maternally-challenged. Biological clock kicked it years ago…”

For the first time in my life I thanked my grandmother for the hours of tortuous training she put me through on how to be gracious and calm in every possible social situation. Mind you, I think Flint should get down on his knees and thank her instead, for it was her upbringing (and the child in his lap) that was keeping me from dumping my beer over his head and stomping off.

The others laughed…finding this little revelation of his enormously funny. I excused myself politely and started to walk off when I heard him call my name…I think he realized as it was coming out of his mouth that it was wrong…but I knew he would never grovel or apologize in front of ‘the guys’ so with all the grace I could muster…with all the haughty snobbery I knew lay within me…I turned and quietly said the following.

“Lucky for you it is ‘broken’, Dashiell, or I might have forced you to face that commitment-phobia of yours long ago”

With that I left him with his mouth hanging open…his friends rolling with laughter.

“She got you there, Faireborn” Stalker hooted.

I was still in range when Roadblock, bless his sweet heart, blasted his friend for being an ass.

Of course, Flint’s response was a very macho, non-chalant “Ah…she knows I’m kidding, Marvin, she will just needs to cool off…”

COOL OFF!!!! GRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!! I need more ice cream…

How could he…even as a joke…HOW COULD HE? I told him in private…I never told anyone else. I trusted him!

Now they will all think I’m some aberration…a woman who doesn’t like kids! They couldn’t possibly understand. If they had been raised in my household they would know why the idea of having kids terrifies me more than facing Storm Shadow with nothing but a toothpick to defend myself.

My mother…my grandmother…my great grandmother…the genetic anomaly was passed down the Hart female line…that void where the ‘mothering instinct’ gene was meant to grace the DNA sequence.

I cannot subject another child to the cold that I experienced growing up. I know I will be as terrible a mother as mine was. I know it! How could it be any different?

When I told him, I can’t remember when or where, he smiled and with a chuckle asked me why I didn’t think I inherited from the Hart side and not the Burnett? He had met my late father’s family when we were wrapping up a mission to Scotland, and experienced the warmth of the Burnett clan first hand.

He couldn’t understand that I didn’t want to take the chance that the gene skipped me and find out I was wrong when it was too late.

God…why can’t he just learn to keep his mouth shut. Every time he opens it I am afraid of what is going to come out. Usually I can handle it, but I am getting tired of dealing with the very obvious disconnect between his brain and his mouth.

I once leveled him with a right hook when he put his foot in it with Scarlett and Snakes. Should I have done it again tonight? How can someone so well educated, so gentle and quiet when we were alone, be such a boor?

Is this one of those things my Aunt Sarah told me I was going to have to learn to deal with or seriously rethink my relationship?

Oh god…WHAT RELATIONSHIP? I don’t even know if he feels anything but a sexual attraction and a friendly affection for me!

What a mess! I can’t believe I called him commitment phobic! He is…but I can’t believe I aired all that dirty laundry in front of the others. He is going to be furious when he gets back. The only reason he hasn’t confronted me yet is that I left early to go back on duty.

Ah crap…let him boil a little. He deserves it!

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