Widgets Magazine
MIGHTY CULTURE

Perks of having a deployed husband

(Photo by McKayla "MAC" Leber)

Shaw AFB is known by those stationed there as Separates Husbands And Wives. Between the Red Flags at Nellis, the endless human centipede of exercises, and a deployment, my husband Mike was gone over half of our days during that assignment. It was there I learned what it meant to be alone even while in a marriage, but I dealt with it by finding pockets of positivity. Deployments are tough, but if you look, you can find some gold nuggets in that steaming pile of anxiety poo.

Here are some perks to having a deployed husband:


Twice the closet space.

He doesn't need to know that his pitted out Yuengling shirts are getting boxed up with collegiate football hats of schools he didn't attend in order to make room for my legion of maxi dresses. The flannels, however, can stay.

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Suddenly, the toilet paper roll lasts longer.

Turns out if your partner spends as much time on the toilet as a small construction crew fed on chicken fried steaks and protein shakes, the t.p. budget shrinks when he leaves. That newfound cash can be spent on regular pedicures, or a reasonably priced used Lexus.

(Photo by Sarah Pastrana)

You can take up the whole bed.

I call my favorite position, Drunken Starfish.

Retail therapy is fine!

His income is tax-free, and now I need a new credit card because the strip on my old one is wearing out.

Less frequent leg shaving.

That is, until your nephew feels your shin and asks, "Why does Aunt Rachel's leg feel like a pine tree?" Twerp.

No bras in the house.

The bra hits the floor before the alarm goes off. I could set a world record for how fast I can unclasp my underwire and pull it out through the bottom of my shirt.

I can sleep better through the night without a 200 lb. land manatee flopping around next to me.

Not to mention the pillowcases are significantly less sweaty.

No sound of velcro in the morning.

SSSZZZCCCHHHTTT!!!

Cereal for breakfast. Cereal for lunch. Cereal for dinner. 

Honorable mention goes to chips and salsa.

Let me introduce you to "The D Card."

Don't get me wrong, I was worried every day for his safety, and wished time would speed up for him to come home, but the ultimate reward for enduring a deployment is getting to play the "D Card." Fewer phrases pack a punch harder than these four words: My husband is deployed.

Priority vacation days at work.

When everybody is trying to take off for the holidays at the same time – wham! – I play the D Card and skip to the front of the line. No way am I missing Mom's orange fluff at Christmas to decorate a tree by myself.

People put you on a pedestal just for being present and fully dressed.

Trust me, it doesn't always happen.

Sometimes patriotic strangers pay for your drink.

One man tried to pick up my tab without me seeing. Little did he know I drink enough scotch to ration a ship full of sailors across the Americas, so he kindly paid for half. God bless you, citizen.

It shuts down unwanted attention from men.

I remember being asked, "How come your man's not out with you tonight?" (First off-- ew.) When I dropped the D Card, it abruptly came to a halt. There's no comeback. Then I did the Hammer Dance to the tune of "U Can't Touch This" and got myself some jalapeño poppers.

You get a hall pass for mood swings.

WHICH I DON'T F*CKING HAVE!

You can zone out at work hassle free.

All I have to do is pull up an article about F-16s, maximize the screen, and then stare out into space. My boss thinks I'm anguished about my deployed husband, when really I'm thinking about Downton Abbey, or why white queso tastes better than yellow queso. But truthfully most times I'm anguished about my deployed husband.

Nice people send you nice cards.

One of the best things, truly, is finding out how big your friends' hearts are. People send you cards and care packages, and a few more ambitious friends fly out to visit. I was touched to find out I had a group of friends who started a secret thread to coordinate when they could visit me so it was spread out over the deployment.

Hubby comes home cut AF.

And so...

Is it indecent to use his time in combat to make my pain a little less difficult? I don't think so. Deployments are dark times. It's something those of us have earned through tears and sleepless nights when something goes bump outside the bedroom window. I remember driving over to my friend's house one night because her neighbor wouldn't stop being a creep, knowing her husband was away. We stayed up on her back patio with shotguns across our laps until we ended up making margaritas and playing Yahtzee until 3 in the morning.

If you're the one left behind, it can feel like half of your puzzle is missing its pieces. For me, a gold-medal overthinker, I questioned who I was as my own person and why I couldn't seem to handle life, which made me feel even worse about myself. I refused to feel helpless, but there it was. We had built a life for two, and I was forced to fly it solo. So no, I do not feel bad about playing the D Card.

But the biggest high of having a deployed husband is when you lock eyes across the hangar at 2 a.m. after seven months. Your heart pounds as you watch that tan flight suit cut through the crowd of hundreds, and you finally get your kiss, bristly though it may be.

Damn deployment 'stache.