Yesterday, my husband took me out shooting.
This was my idea, because I thought it would be fun for us to go on some sort of “date” where we did something he likes for a change. And he likes guns.
Now, he’s in law enforcement, and we have guns in our house (it’s an occupational hazard). They’re all locked up, always have been, so it’s not like I have to worry about the kids getting into them. We have more gun safes in this house than… well, anyone else I know.
But for all that, I DO NOT like guns. Never have. Ergo, I am a giant pansy, and I have accepted this about myself.
Top 5 things that happened at the gun range:
1. When the people in the bay next to ours began firing automatic weapons, I just about crapped my pants. No, seriously. It was a good thing I didn’t eat that morning.
2. My husband’s gun scared me. So much so that once he told me to holster it, I wouldn’t even take it off, because I didn’t want to touch it again. Oddly, the bigger gun, the .45, I liked better. It reminded me of how I used to flirt with M when we started dating.
3. Six cups of coffee before going out to the gun range that’s out in the middle of the freaking desert? Not a good idea. Just believe me on this one.
4. I think I was meant to live in the Old West, because honestly, revolvers are cool. At least I can shoot those.
5. M doesn’t always buy the “But I’m a girl!” excuse. Most of the time he does, but this time he retorted, “Many women like guns, and are better shots than men.”
My response? “Yeah, but they’re badasses.”
Which, clearly, I am not.