Ramblings from the outside of nowhere

And now for something completely different. I am an anglophile. I admit, I own it, and I accept my actions and take responsibility. I haven't entered a 12 step program yet, but I'm thinking about it. I love anything about Elizabethan England, the reign of Henry the VIII, and Henry the II, (think the Lion in Winter) and all of it. I love British comedies, the old ones especially, like "Are you being Served?", "Keeping up Appearances", "As time goes by,", and of course Monty Python, Faulty Towers, and anything on Masterpiece Theatre. One of my favorite movies is "Remains of the Day."

Its an addiction, I think. The first time I watched Benny Hill, I fell in love with the completely insane antics and humor that is British at its best (worst?), who knows, but I like it. And once upon a time, I actually entertained two british sailors in my home. Ok, get your mind out to the gutter...It wasn't like that at all.

We lived in Pensacola, FL, my husband was a flag driver for the admiral, and my boys were 18 months, and 7 months, respectively. We lived in our first home, meaning it had a mortgage and our payments were at that time, and with our income, a budget breaking $200. a month. We had a tiny stove, refrigerator, and one air conditioner in our humble living room. Our neighbors slept all day, and entertained all night.

Ok, back to the story. The Prince of Wales came to Pensacola for whatever reason, and my husband met some of the sailors, who had sailed with him on the HMS whatever. Prince Charles almost got heat stroke while playing polo in 100 degree heat. What a twit!! Anyhoo, my husband calls me at 1:00 pm, or there abouts, and says he is bringing home two british sailors for supper. No, not one of those candlelight suppers, but the meat and potatoes kind. The house is a mess, crying babies, go no idea in hell what to cook, and wanted to cry. We had at that time, maybe three matching plates and jelly glasses. I started planning what to do. First, grab up the babies, go to the store, and get some steaks, three, (I decided to be a vegetarian for the occasion) and some salad fixings, and baking potatoes. Pretty much cleaned out the checking account. All the while figuring when the next payday was, how soon the bank would cash the check, and if my husband had written any.

Next I went next door, to my all night neighbors, and kindly asked if I could borrow four plates, and four glasses. Being the kind lady she was, she said of course, and did I need anything else? Oh, those were the good ole days...neighborly neighbors.

My husband arrived with our guests, and while they went into the "family room" to play pool, (yes we had a pool table, purchased with an enlistment bonus check, God, I was such a doormat then!!) I prepared the feast. Back then, the military did not do random drug testing. So, of course my husband was high as a Georgia pine, though I had forbidden such behavior. (Not around the babies!!) So, he started eating like he had jumped straight out of some WV holler, never exposed to the outside world. So, what conversation there was came from me, trying to feed two babies, who continually through their food on me, the floor, the walls, and the guests. I don't remember much about the conversation, only that we talked about fish and chips at one point. They complimented me on the salad dressing, and I jokingly said how hard it was to make it from scratch and then poor it into the little bottles. They believed me! I guess they were up there in the pines with my good ole darling husband. My husband finished his meal in record time, got up from the table, and went out to the "family room". He had not said a word during the entire meal. (What was I doing with this turd head?) The guests were finished, thanked me profusely, and followed him out to play some more pool.

I washed up, between chasing the kids, taking a peek now and then at the two Brits, and cursing my husband, silently to myself. I have to admit that the British accents were a major turn-on, and one of them stirred my female parts. I bathed the kids, breast fed the youngest, descreetly, and finally got them settled down. Ready to join the guys, I walked out to find them leaving. "Damn," I thought. "I don't even get to strut around in front of the manly brit!!) Not that I expected anything to come of it, or wanted it too, (well, who knows?) but, a girl can dream, right?

They said their good byes, my husband left to see his friends, and get high some more, and me and the boys were left alone. But, I pulled it off. I think. Now, all I had to worry about was whether the check I wrote would bounce.

Maybe someday I will get to England, eat some fish and chips, and wallow in British culture. Because, in spite of that experience, I remain to this day, dare I say it? a devoted, card-carrying, pompous, unswerving anglophile.

Prince Charles is still a twit, though.