The Memsaab's Amazon Army

Whenever The Memsaab hooks up with a new gal-pal, we just sit back and watch the transformation. It’s sometimes subtle, sometimes not, but usually it goes somethin’ like this: No matter what they were like before they met her, they start wearin’ bush shorts, desert boots and wispy-silky blouses; packin’ guns, or if they did already, packin’ bigger guns or more of ’em; pumping iron at the gym; placing makeup-coupon bets on what they can hit at what range with one shot; spicing their speech with Swahili and dealing with condescending dipsticks at the auto-parts store with statements like, “Oh dear, I can tell from your attitude that you haven’t had a good butt-whuppin’ in far too long! Care for one, sweetie?”

Our daughter watches this, rolls her eyes, and sighs, “Another innocent human is assimilated by the Red Borg! Jeez-Louise!” Our son the Refrigerator Raider asks, “What’s the cult count on the Amazon Army up to now, Dad?” Me and the dog, Sancho Panza, just stay outta the way, police up brass and line up for chow-call. Got the picture?