"Oh, uh," that brightened up my day again, now that I understood, "sure. Yes. Yes!"

"Great." She swung her legs out from the blanket, stuffed her feet into her boots, hopped to her feet, and kissed me on the cheek. "I'll call you."

That kind of freaked me out.

Then, she did call two nights later, and we wore out the truck's springs.

It was awesome.

Any thoughts I had, that my amorous nocturnal adventures had gone unnoticed, went out the window at breakfast the next morning. Sergeant Koch had run us ragged over an obstacle course in the dark, I hadn’t gotten enough sleep and the three of us were ravenously hungry.

"What is that?" Cornpone mumbled over a mouthful of food, pointing at Ski's bowl with a piece of toast.

I looked at it too. "Damn, Ski," I said, "what are you doing?" Instead of eggs, French toast, hash browns or anything good, he had one lonely, barely buttered piece of wheat toast, and a bowl of what appeared to be plain oatmeal. Plain, as in oats soaked in water. No raisins, no brown sugar, no walnuts, not even any cream. The kind of thing you serve to horses.  Yum. "That looks like a bowl of, like, soggy.... sadness."

"A bowl of sadness." Cornpone choked he laughed so hard, spitting eggs onto his plate. "That's funny. Is Soggy Sadness a Kellogg's brand?"

"Seriously," I added, as Ski sat there stone-faced, "eating that must be like being a Cubs fan. Sure, once in a while, the Cubs will luck their way into a win, and it's like you find a marshmallow in the bowl, but, come on, you know by the end of the season you'll be choking down a bowl of sadness."

"Shut up." Ski growled, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

Cornpone slapped the table. "Bish, damn, you're killing me here."

I offered a slice of French toast to Ski, but he waved it away with a frown. "No, man, that meatloaf last night had an argument with my stomach, I need something bland after that obstacle course."

"Oh, yeah, the meatloaf. What was that gravy?" Cornpone shook his head. "10W-40 motor oil, tasted like."

"No, I think it was hydraulic fluid hamsters use on those Buzzards. Yummy," I licked my lips, "mystery meat floating in an oily pool of hydraulic fluid."

"Uh huh," Cornpone agreed while spooning hash browns into his mouth. "And when the oily gravy starts getting cold, it gets that rubbery skin on top, and it-"

"Oh." Ski's face was turning green. He pushed the oatmeal away. "Guys, shut up, please, I'm gonna lose it."