This horrifying photo is a little insight into a storage area in my basement. In case you haven’t noticed, almost everything in there is the familiar “army green,” which is the colour of most of our military gear. It is of note that only two of those bags belong to me.
In the military, there are two kinds of people (okay, there are lots of different kinds of people, but for the sake of this blog post…); those who feel that we are issued too much gear (known as “kit” in the forces) and those who are always craving the newest and most “Gucci” of gear. So essentially, this closet is the ultimate definition of the professional differences between Mark and I. I only want the gear necessary to my daily job…uniform, boots, beret, coat. Mark wants more. And more. And more. He’s always looking for the newest rucksack, the most protective tactical vest, and the most sexy of gun holsters. The man owns SIX, yes, SIX rucksacks. I will delicately point out that he only has one back. In case the photo hasn’t made it clear, Mark’s obsession has reached a new pinnacle.
So the dangerous thing about two military folk in one house is that soon, kit begins to swallow you, and inevitably your house, whole. I find military gear in the strangest places in the house. A Velcro Canada flag in the bathroom drawer. Boot bands in my civilian clothes pockets. Various forms of combat boots in every possible house crevice. Straps for rucksacks in the underwear drawers. And soon, the only way to figure out what belongs to who is to try it on, which is always rather time consuming. Thank goodness Mark is a good six inches taller than me.
What’s even worse is that when you deploy, you are issued even more gear, all required to keep you safe when you are overseas. So imagine, if you will, that there are two other rucksacks and two barrack boxes stashed in other corners of my basement, all waiting to be returned now that Mark is home safe. Oh, what a blessed day that will be.
On top of it all, the military kit has a particular scent to it. I jokingly say that it smells like “army,” a smell that reminds me of home, Dad and comfort. So whenever I’m feeling homesick, I can go down into the basement, take a deep breath and suddenly, I am comforted. That is, until the smell reminds me of basic training! Ha.
So for now, I just close the curtain (literally) on the mess in this closet and try to forget the horror that lies beneath. But I’m open to advice on to how to save my basement from my fiancé, the Gear Hound.