Soon, this Fish will be sending two v. lovely boys off to war. Oh, alright, they’re not heading out to war per se, but they are off to Cuba to play babysitter to terrorist detainees. This is as close as I will ever come to sending loved ones off to war (fingers crossed), and can’t say I like it one bit.

The lovely boys are brothers (not MY brothers, but they themselves are siblings. Get it?) -- the younger, with whom have shared outrageous and entertaining flirtations, and the older, with whom have formed an actual kinship – both to be missed quite ferociously.

Spent yesterday evening frolicking with gal pals and GI Joes in few remaining hours before shipping out. Woke up this morning feeling v. tired and quite melancholy. Yes, am aware that have been highly sentimental lately (an unfortunate side effect of PMS), but am still taking this rather hard. While Cuba is a rather safe place (relative to other war-time assignments), can barely fight inclination to place anonymous and frantic phone call to their commanding officer.

H: I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.
CO: No ma’am. Those boys are headed out to Cuba.
H: But they can’t. These boys mean something to me. They must stay here.
CO: They’re just doing their duty. Where they’re needed. In Cuba.
H: But! But! What if something… happens?!
CO: Like what? It’s very safe. At worst they might get sunburns.
H: Yes! Exactly! You’ve seen how fair skinned they are! Do you want them to blister?! I really think it’s in everyone’s best interest if they stay behind.
CO: They’ll be fine.
H: Let me level with you, General.
CO: Eh, I’m actually a Sergeant.
H: Sergeant? SERGEANT? I should be addressing someone much higher up, I think. But maybe you can pass this along to someone with the proper amount of bars on his shoulder. Accidents happen in hot, sticky tropical climates where terrorists and/or iguanas and Hummers are involved. And if one of those sticky terrorist iguana accidents happens to these boys… well, it just can’t. Because I mean, who would frolic with me? Who would flirt shamelessly with me? Who would help me move? Who would know that I can’t go a single day without eating my own weight in ice-cream? Don’t you see?!!
CO: Ma’am… your tone has reached levels that only dogs can hear. Maybe you need to lie down.
H: I need for you to station these boys in a non-sticky, non-tropical, non-terrorist and iguana-infested location. Hey, I know somewhere like that. RIGHT HERE. You can leave them with the Hummers, though, because they’d be disappointed to lose the toys. But… Hey! Are you listening to me? Hello? Hello…?

Have put John Denver's Leavin' on a Jet Plane on repeat. And intend to leave it playing until Lovely Boys return.