For my birthday a few months ago, my infantry officer boyfriend got me an Apple Watch.
I didn't exactly want one.
I definitely didn't need one. And then—he said it, almost under his breath: “I can't wait to compare heart rates.” Did you know resting heart rates are the new SAT scores for people over twenty? Whoever has the most efficient heart function wins! On second thought, there may be some truth to this.
In any case, I spend a lot of time now observing my heart rate. That's better than being on Instagram, though, right? Maybe not. I actually think the heart rate stuff makes me feel worse than the fact that everyone is having more fun than I am. (Can I get that fact-checked? Everyone is having more fun, correct?)
We try to decide on weekend plans, and I can see my boyfriend configuring OPORDS (operation orders) in his head. Situation? Check. Mission? Check. Execution? Check.
The military seems to speak exclusively in acronyms. This effectively becomes a sort of secret language; it's not not in English but people on the outside (me) still feel the need to Google translate it.
He gives me work updates, forwards me emails, sends screenshots of schedules. It's very nice of him to try, but this is what it always sounds like to me: “We're going to need all 51Ws to report to MSG on Thursday. Subject to change. If you're FGM10-13, go KKL on the 45. Don't worry about POM or PQB before you KYT the BBX. PT will be PT except for Hernandez who will be DE. Thanks.”
He texts the screenshot, then: “Ugh.”
I go: “What?” Every time.