The reason I'm blogging at six-thirty instead of sitting on a bus, coming home from militia, is because I forgot a key component of my wardrobe. I was halfway into my stockings, hunched over in the small bathroom in the Roscoe Cole House, when I suddenly realised I'd left my shoes at the costume center. Bugger. There was no possible way I could get over there, retrieve my shoes, and still have time to dress and be at the military headquarters in time for the review. So, no marching for me today.
Ironically, I had all the time in the world this afternoon. We had our departmental picnic, so the CDC shut down at noon (no fresh costumes for the interpreters, haha), and we ate our way through the next two hours. Salads and burgers and chips and dips and enough brownies to go sledding down. Oh, it was bliss. Afterward, we were free to go wandering through the historical area, so that's just what I did. Another coworker and I wandered over the magazine and practised our grenadoe throwing before going into the magazine and listening to my searjeant give his speech on the weaponry stored therein. I was even cheeky and said "so...what time is the military review today?" while he sort of glowered at me. Me in my shorts and lightweight tee, he in his shirt, weskit and gaiter trowsers, me not realising the tragedy that was about to befall.
Stupid shoes. I dearly love marching.
But it's a hundred degrees out today, and, between you, me and the binnacle, maybe I'm not so sorry to have missed the review. A hundred degrees of temperature on a full stomach...maybe not such a good idea.