My wife declared, a while ago, “I’d like to have a gun.” I asked her, “Are you scared or do you want one just for fun?”
I told her she could use my guns whenever she’s alone. But she wanted something smaller, one that she could call her own.
I felt a gun would be okay. She’d been around a few. But what really made me wince was this: She wanted bullets, too!
So with some hesitation and a check book in my hand, I drove on down to Harold’s place. I knew he’d understand.
Well, Harold dealt with guns and gear. He recognized my plight. So he said, “Get her a gun today. You don’t, you’ve got a fight.”
I could see he wasn’t kidding, so I took one on the chin. Then I noticed a revolver that someone had traded in.
I asked to get a better look. He handed me the gun. A Smith and Wesson .38. My shopping day was done.
I paid the price. He wrapped it up with bullets, too, of course. I took it home and really hoped I’d never feel remorse.
I showed it to my wife, and now she had her own defense. We went out in the yard and nailed a target to the fence.
I thought I’d show my prowess. I knew how to shoot a gun. But when it came to handguns, my experience was none.
I aimed, then shot. Where did it go? I fired the second round. I missed the target and the fence. Ricocheted right off the ground.
I felt somewhat embarrassed. I’d proved I couldn’t shoot. But then, it was a handgun, so who really gives a hoot.
My wife reloaded. Then she aimed and fired a single shot. She waited and then fired five more. It seemed she knew a lot.
She never missed the target. She’d been shooting on the sly. Each bullet had been placed just right. Two hit the darn bull’s eye.
I guess I should be happy, since my wife was tickled pink. And life couldn’t get much better, ‘cuz I got that special wink.