Written on February 11th, 2013
My first husband was a cop in Shreveport, La. It was hard being married to a white guy that far South, and outside of N'awlins (New Orleans) to boot. And he was a cop, active and on the force; so I had the extra worry about him getting shot-some of those guys he arrested, weren't the nicest, and I saw some of them come through the ER at Christus-Schumpert. One tough customer, in the ER yelled out "That's Eric's wife, I'm ma gonna get a piece of her" while hubby put the cuffs on his ruff *** and whirled him 'round. "Settle down, so-and-so" and a saw a gash on the man a mile long cross his cheek. Knife fight! I wanted to make sure those cuffs were tight on THAT guy; he was a known drunk, and periodically got into some rough fights. I flinched automatically, Ugh! My husband could really smile when he wanted to and smile he did. "Red" was not so likkered up that he didn't notice the interaction that passed between us too. "A private party, huhn?" Unpleasantly, his gaze was directed at my name tag and my husband's badge. "How come y'all pasty boyz get all the light skin @#*$% 'round here?" "Stay outta jail and you'll find out why" said "hubbins", now thoroughly irritated with his black behind. I chucked mirthlessly,waved him on so Doc Casker could sew him up! And then get him into the paddy waiting outside. "Mah wife ain't goin' NOWHERE." I puffed with pride. My husband knew I wasn't going anywhere, except home, to our bed at the end of my shift! And those handcuffs, well, they would get another work-out, off label!