Johana was five feet tall on a good day, but what she lacked in height, she made up for in attitude. A born-and-raised Ecuadorian firecracker, she had made the life-altering decision to join the Air Force, believing she’d be soaring through the skies like a majestic eagle. Instead, she found herself being yelled at by a six-foot-four drill sergeant with a mustache that looked like it had a family of four living in it.
“DID I SAY YOU COULD BREATHE, RECRUIT?!” he bellowed an inch from her face.
Johana, through gritted teeth: “No, sir.”
Her inner voice: “Damn, this man’s breath smells like expired beef jerky.”
For six weeks, she endured the screaming, the push-ups, and the unbearable incompetence of her fellow recruits who didn’t understand the concept of making their beds. She wanted to fight all of them. But she held it in. Barely.
Then came tech school.
Tech school was a joke. It was like basic training had spat out a bunch of 18-year-olds who still thought they were in high school. Every dorm smelled like Axe body spray, Hot Cheetos, and bad decisions. She was 26, a full-grown woman, and she was surrounded by children who thought doing push-ups once a week made them warriors.
And then she met Luke.
Luke was 24, which made him an elder compared to the toddlers she was stuck with. He was also a white Puerto Rican who thought his Spanish was better than it was. He had the audacity to wear a thin mustache that made him look like a man who starred in questionable films but got paid in coupons.
At first, Johana dismissed him as just another “ick” in a sea of “absolutely nots.” But Luke was funny. He made her laugh, even when she didn’t want to. And compared to the rest of the tech school population—who were more interested in keg stands than actual education—Luke was the best of the worst.
So, she gave him a shot.
Their first date was an absolute disaster. He took her to a buffet because “it’s cost-effective.” Johana watched in horror as he mixed mac and cheese with sushi on the same plate. Then, as if that wasn’t enough of a crime, he started dipping fries in pudding like it was a normal thing humans did.
She should’ve walked out right then and there.
But, against all odds, she gave him one more chance.
Their second date? Bowling. Except Luke forgot to mention he sucked at bowling. Like, gutter-ball-every-time level sucked. Johana had never laughed so hard in her life watching this man with a full-grown mustache throw a bowling ball backwards by accident.
By the third date, they got caught in a rainstorm, and Luke slipped in the mud and lost his shoe. Romantic? No. Hilarious? Absolutely.
But just as Johana started thinking, “Maybe I can ignore the mustache,” she got her orders.
She was being deployed.
To the North Pole.
Literally.
While her fellow airmen got sent to nice warm places like Hawaii or Italy, Johana was headed to a place where penguins were her only dating prospects.
She gave Luke one last look before shipping out and thought: “Well, at least I don’t have to see that mustache ever again.”
And with that, she was off—ready to embrace a future that did not involve disastrous dates, questionable buffet choices, or men with facial hair choices inspired by 70s cinema.
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