The difficult life of a military wife

Many people ask me what the hardest thing is about being a military wife. I am sure they are expecting answers such as "It is hard to have him deployed"; or "Never knowing when he is going to call"; "The long hours he works sometimes" or even "Having my heart gripped with fear everytime he says: 'I won't be able to call for a few days'". But none of these come close to the most difficult thing I have had to endure as a military wife: memorizing Husband's Social Security number. In the army (and I would assume all branches of the military), everything is done by Social Security numbers (for my Canadian readers, it's the same as a Social Insurance Number). I cannot, for the life of me, memorize his Social!! But, wait it gets better, I can't memorize my Social either! This presents quite a problem in the military world. One of the first questions I get ask when ever I have to do anything army related is "What's your husband's social", and then there is a long pause as I dig through my purse, trying to find the piece of paper I wrote the numbers on just in case they ask for them (which the ALWAYS do), as the military person I am dealing with looks on, probably wondering why I don't have it memorized. It's not that I can't memorize things; I still remember my university ID number and I have been graduated for 6 years! I can remember my PIN numbers; and in most cases my credit card numbers. I have my Social Insurance Number down pat (Thanks, in part, to having to write it on every single student loan I ever applied for). I can still rattle off most of the phone numbers I've ever had. But, for some unknown reason, I cannot memorize two Social Security numbers! Maybe, on the subconsious level it is my way of holding on to being a Canadian. Maybe, in some way, memorizing two Social Security numbers would mean I was letting go of who I truly am: A doughnut eating, maple loving, hockey watching Canadian. Or, maybe, just maybe, my brain is too full of numbers to put anymore in there. Whatever the reason, the end result is the same: I will forever be digging into my purse looking for the numbers as the person who asked for them looks at me like I am an idiot.