Note to self...

The next time I promise someone an object, I should probably locate it first.

I was trying to locate a desert tan Safariland thigh rig. It came home with me from Iraq, but I had never really warmed up to it, so it was going to live with someone else.

I could have sworn all my random tactical holsters were in the giant green footlocker in the garage. But...no.

Since the object was tactical, and not in the footlocker, and not in the rotation of gear I've been using for Army stuff recently, that left only one option. It had to be in the attic. Shit.

For those of you not in Texas this week, please allow me to point out that it's pretty toasty here. It's extra-super toasty in the attic.

The attic, by the way, has only one dim lightbulb. And since the Mister has been in the Service nearly 18 years, and I have been in several services for quite some time myself, can you imagine how many boxes and bags of military crap we have up there?

Uniforms, woodland. Uniforms, DCU. Pouches, ALICE. Pouches, MOLLE, tan. Kneepads, tactical, coyote brown. Boonie hat, DCU. Boonie hat, woodland. Boonie hat, chocolate chip. Boonie hat, ACU (hold on - I might need that - toss down the attic hatch). Duffle bag of miscellaneous raingear, duffle bag of jungle boots, duffle bag of duffle bags (???).... Plastic trash bag of gloves, plastic trash bag of belts, plastic trash bag with elbow pads, more belts and...hey! A tan Safariland thigh rig!

I crawled down, victorious and drenched in sweat.

It's like Hell's Own Military Surplus store up there. A smarter woman would take a day and organize all that crap, but I'm really not htinking that's going to happen anytime before our next move.