A Man in Uniform

“I can’t resist a man in uniform!” My Grandmother would say, with a twinkle in her eye and a playful shrug of her shoulder.  She meant my grandfather.  The sailor who picked up the handbag she dropped on a busy San Fransisco street.  The man who came home to her.  The one who was her everything.  I have to agree… There is something irresistible about a man in uniform.  But the uniform I love is tiny, and there’s a very small man wearing it.  I get weak in the knees when you wear your Cub Scout uniform.  Your hat that pushes your little ears out just a bit.  The way your shirt tail never will stay tucked in. It does something to me.  Makes me want to gather you into my arms and feel your soft cheek against mine.  You’re getting dressed for your first den meeting of the year, and your buttons are all buttoned in the wrong button holes.  I think you fished dirty socks out of the hamper to wear.  You can’t quite get your neckerchief on right.  I can’t resist a man in uniform either.