Marrying the help

(In a conversation with one of my new superiors)

Superior: "It says here you are married. Where's your husband?"

Me: "At home" (meaning the place I just had to move from this past week).

Superior: "He got the same job as you?"

Me: "No, sir."

Superior: "Didn't anyone tell you to marry your own kind? He at least Air Force?"

Me: "No, he's a Marine."

Superior: "Didn't your mama ever tell you not to sleep with the help?"

Me: (quite caught off guard because, while generally the Air Force thinks of the Marines as just grunts, I have never heard this before in relationship to Marines and Air Force. I mean, I have heard him referred to as a bullet catcher and the guy who I'm waiting for to die so I can collect his life insurance, but not the help. I don't think Señor Marine will be too offended when he hears this, as I have heard Marines refer to me with some pretty derogatory terms): "Sir, my mama tells me Jewish proverbs. Like make sure you cook your brisket thoroughly and always call home." (That's a lie, but whatever. Close enough to what she says.)

Superior: (also suddenly quite caught off guard) "Well. Alright then."

Ahhh, Señõr Marine, my help. It makes me think of him dressed as a butler serving me sweet tea and fanning me with a palm leaf. If that's what I married into, I think I win in this situation.