My wife declared, one Sunday morn, “I’d like to have a gun.” I asked her, “Are you scared, or do you want a gun for fun?”
I told her she could use my guns whenever she’s alone. But she wanted something smaller and a gun to call her own.
For her 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.”
Harold wasn’t kidding, so I took one on the chin. Then noticed a revolver that a patron traded in.
I asked to get a better look. He handed me the gun. A Smith and Wesson .38. My shopping day was done.
He took my cash then wrapped the gun and bullets, too, of course. I took it home and really hoped I’d never feel remorse.
My wife unwrapped the gun, and now she had her own defense. We went out in the backyard, nailed a target to the fence.
Men like to show their prowess. I knew how to shoot a gun. But when it came to handguns, my experience was none.
I aimed straight down the barrel, took a shot. Where did it go? I missed the target and the fence. My wife said, “You shot low.”
Embarrassed wasn’t quite the word. I’d proved I couldn’t shoot. But then, it was a handgun, so who really gives a hoot.
My wife reloaded. Took her aim and fired a single shot. Then squeezed the trigger five more times. Dang sure she knew a lot.
She never missed the target. She’d been shooting on the sly. Each doggone bullet found its mark. Two hit the darn bull’s eye.
So, I guess I should be happy, since my wife was tickled pink. And life don’t get much better, ‘cuz I got that special wink.