This is bananas

The dress code on a Marine Corps base does not include whether or not to wear a banana suit. I hope that never changes.

Outside the Starbucks on base there were signs reminding Marines to remove their hats and not to swear, as well as posters outlining proper civilian attire. A banana suit was not on the poster.

I was wearing a pair of workout leggings, and a sports bra and tank top underneath the banana suit. According to the dress code, leggings and workout apparel was not allowed in most places on base. However, if I was wearing a banana suit over the top, could it be considered to convey the same effect as a tasteful cardigan sweater? I mean, the banana suit provided a modest tube of polyester fabric over my tight fitting workout apparel that helped to conceal any curves that might distract America’s war fighters or look unprofessional. I even looked as if I could be hired as a banana for, say, a children’s birthday party, which could be a business, I suppose, which would make it business attire. I deemed it acceptable and headed in to get my coffee.

The banana suit was disarming to say the least. I made more friends than enemies in that get up, even with confused Marines trying to figure out if I was having fun or if life in the middle the Mojave Desert had somehow melted my brain.

When you live in Twentynine Palms, you hear stories about spouses who have gone a little crazy after living on the base. I am sure over time the story has adopted some modified details as it is passed along, helping it get a little crazier and a little more compelling with each telling. One spouse, I heard, bought a life-size pillow with her husband’s picture on it and carried it around with her to family functions, restaurants, and everywhere else she went while he was deployed. Her husband’s command finally requested he come home from his deployment because they were convinced she lost her marbles. After about a year or so living in the desert — the picture frames on my walls rattling from artillery fire, the coyotes howling at Taps every night — I started to appreciate her strategy. The banana suit felt like a far healthier outlet than a stuffed husband.

Married to someone serving in the military, I regularly feel like I am tagging along with my husband instead of carving my own path. The dress code applied…

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