“I’m not fun anymore,” I lamented to an old college friend during one of our weekly phone gab sessions. 

“Yes you arrrreee.” But Patti’s words come out flat as day-old champagne. 
Deep down my uber-fun friend knows I’ve been boring for almost a decade.

These days, staying in on a Friday night and reading a three-month-old copy of a Good Housekeeping Magazine my mother saved for me is as boisterous as my weekend gets. Who says Thanksgiving turkey tips in February can’t be frolicking fun?

I caught the party-pooper virus nine years ago after celebrating New Year’s Eve with Patti in a “cool” club in DC, the kind of place with lighting that makes everyone’s skin look gray. During the evening I realized I’d rather ring in the New Year in my pajamas at home. And that’s what I’ve done pretty much ever since.  

The problem, I now prefer to spend every night at home in my pajamas. If I stumble to bed at 3 in the morning it’s because I’m getting my toddler milk. And the last time I stood on a table was to change a light bulb.   

“I’ve lost my fun factor,” I insist. “I have as much pizzazz as a deflated party balloon. I’m a lump.”

“No you’re noooot,” Patti insists.

“Then what’s my problem?”

“It’s part laziness,” Patti said. “You’re still fun and funny. You’re just not a big partier.”

“Was I ever?”

“Yeah. But even in college I had to beg you to go out sometimes.” 

And so our conversation goes. Patti and I have known each other since we were 18 at Penn State. Party girl is still her middle name. She can recite every word to every Top 40 song dating back to 1989. Need a raucous bachelorette party? Just dial her up. Planning a girls’ long weekend to the Bahamas? She’ll be the first to book her tickets. Theme parties? Pub crawls? Big bashes? Battle of the Bands? She’s there. Why waste time sleeping when you can “part-ay?”        

Although I’ve never been able to keep up with Patti, I used to enjoy going along for the ride. But somewhere along the way comfortable shoes, elastic waistband pants, hydration, and eight hours of sleep became important.  Sensible squashed Spontaneous; Caution curtailed Craziness; and Jaded jumped Jovial in my playbook.

Yet sometimes I grow nostalgic for my old merrymaking ways.  Revelry and tomfoolery can be good for the soul, and a reminder we shouldn’t take ourselves too seriously. And in these uncertain times, some sidesplitting laughter is in order.  

Last year, comedian Dennis Miller told me laughter is the one thing we all have in common, regardless of party affiliation, nationality, socio-economic status or age. Humor, he said, can be a unifying force.

I’d add to that, humor can be a unifying force in tough times.

Through eight years of war, and now a limp economy, maintaining a sense of humor keeps all of us, especially our military families, sane.

“To get through the hardest journey, we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping.” That’s an ancient Chinese proverb I think applies well to 21st century military wife. But I’d change it to this: “To get through the hardest journey, we need take only one step at a time—and it might as well be a two-step.”

Especially if you’re in Texas, like I was last week. It’s good for the soul during challenging times to have some fun and that’s exactly what the Fort Hood wives whose husbands are serving in Iraq with the 4th Infantry Division did. These ladies threw a big bash for themselves, “The Denim and Diamonds Ball.” I was honored to be the guest speaker for the femme festivities. I must say, it was unlike any military formal I’ve ever attended. (Who says men need be present at a ball?) Instead of gowns, the gals wore jeans, and jeans skirts, cowboy boots and hats. A honky-tonk band kept the dance floor packed and both generals’ wives did a fine job riding the mechanical bull the ladies had rented for the night.

The evening was a celebration, an opportunity to celebrate their resilience, strength, faith, compassion and courage during a difficult and sometimes tragic year. At times in life, we can choose to either laugh or cry at our circumstances. All of us, civilians and military alike, could take a page or two from the Fort Hood wives, who chose for one night to come together, whoop it up and have a blast. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time.

“I haven’t totally lost my fun side,” I told Patti when I returned from Fort Hood.
Patti agreed: “Yeah, I don’t think you’re like an old curmudgeon boring person.”

Thanks for your vote of confidence, Patti.

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