I had been planning on taking this picture of Lloyd in his mess dress for a long time. He had a ceremony to go to tonight and we have been scrounging up the bits and pieces of the uniform for WEEKS: the buttons, the cuff links, the bow tie; it's all very complicated. The clip-on bow tie, in particular, is surprisingly vexing.
And while he is very handsome in his mess dress, that is not why I wanted the picture. No, I wanted the picture because, unless something goes dreadfully awry, it is the very last time he will wear it. Ever. Never again. I took the picture because I relish every indication that our Air Force time is drawing to a close. He looks a little grumpy because he felt I was not taking the primping and polishing quite seriously enough, but he did consent to pose.
And that was going to be the end of this post. Oh, I might have gone on a bit about how I'm going to dance naked around a uniform bonfire when we get out of here, or how I'm counting down the coffee filters (187), but that was basically it. But then....
But then, as Lloyd was walking out the door in his fancy outfit, Shane fell, jumped or was pushed off the back of the couch, smashing the back of his head into one of the 45,873,912 toys laying on the floor behind it. And there was Lloyd, all dressed up with no place to go. Except the ER. And so we did, and instead of attending a fancy dinner party, Lloyd spent the evening in a dingy hospital basement and eating takeout pizza after Shane was cleared to go home and continue throwing himself around with reckless abandon.
So there you have it, the story of Lloyd's last dress-up party. Sniff. Now pass the matches.
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