Mrs. Lt. Smurf?

OMG the past few weeks have been sooo refreshing, more science less smurf. Don't get me wrong, I get that the Navy is a PART of my life, but I don't want it to BE my life. That's why GSA, which I will do a redux of later (need time to process) was sooo refreshing. Nobody asks me if I'm married, or what my husband does, or how that makes me feel. I don't have to deal with people giving me their opinions about the war they aren't involved in. It's AWESOME, because for a few days I get to believe my life is about, wait for it...ME, SCIENCE, the nifty things that excite me in the world.
I know that sounds selfish, but the truth of the matter is that I could live to be 100 and I will never see myself as a smurfette first, nor will I ever see smurfing as the dominant force in my life. I could never cede that much authority over my life to any organization. It's Senior Jefe's career and maybe to a certain extent his life and I am proud of the choices he is making and how hard he works everyday. But my ego isn't really tied up in it, most of the time.
So I had, but couldn't find my driver's license on the way to the airport yesterday, so I flew on my military ID. I was riding a super high wave of excitement and enthusiasm about science. GSA has a way of making you feel super pumped about what you and everyone else is doing. And then all of it came crashing down in the TSA line. The TSA guy was trying to be nice when he called me Mrs. Lt. Smurf. I know he was trying to pay me a compliment and I am not mad at him for doing it. He just depressed that giant wave of joy by reminding me that the second I left the science mother ship, as it were, I was back to the real world, where people see me as an appendage of my husband.
Let me tell you, that blows!
Let me be clear: I don't wear his rank. I am not in the military. I don't make the same level of sacrifices he makes and more importantly, I am SO OVER this propogation of "I'm a 1950s military wife who follows along behind my husband, wearing his rank and never complaining, because this is an 'adventure'." Bah-humbug! Gag me with a spoon.
I am not saying there aren't a million ways to be a military spouse and I am not saying I don't support that diversity. I am saying I desperately need a paradigm shift where people stop viewing me as nothing more than a collectible on my husband's shelf, filed next to his latest acquired uniform bling. I did NOT sign up for that, but the TSA guy reminded me that to the outside world (outside of the mother ship of geology) I am nothing more than a bit of bling on my husband's arm. That's just damned depressing.
I am not Mrs. Lt. Smurf. I am Smurfette, the geologist who is kicking science butt and taking names. I am a person in my own right, with my own goals, dreams, wants and desires and none of those things got set aside simply because I married someone who happens to be in the Navy.
So TSA peeps, when you encounter me in the airport, here are the rules: Please feel free to thank my husband for his service. I will gladly pass along the message. Please address me as Ms. Smurfette. That's the name on the ID. Please don't assume I wear my husband's rank. He could be on the Jt. Chiefs and I still wouldn't claim recognition for his accomplishments, because this smurfette has nothing to do with them. I am just a lowly geologist, trying to do the best I can with the talents I have.