Friday, February 3, 2012

THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS

Actually, that's the name of the place I went Wednesday... BEAR ARMS. Baring my arms? Bingo. I'd do that in a heartbeat. But BEAR ARMS?? Oh man... so not a place I'd normally ever visit.

Unless that is, I ever wanted to learn how to protect myself one on one against a robber or rapist. Both of whom I hope to avoid like the damn plague. My greatest wish is that should anyone ever enter my home... PLEASE DON'T LET ME BE HERE. Not only would I have a heart attack right smack on the spot, but you can be sure I'm not running to my nightstand to pull out a weapon telling them: STAND BACK. IT'S LOADED. Mind you I'm not saying it's not a fantastic idea, but when push comes to shove, like I said: I'd have a heart attack in a second. So basically... in reality, who even needs to bear arms??  

Well my wonderful friends, The Pistol Boys do, for one. Actually, make that three. It was they who allowed me to join them on a field trip they go on a few days each week. And this week was MY chance to add a little perfume and nail polish to the mix. I WENT PISTOL SHOOTING! OMG... never in a million years did I ever imagine I'd be writing THAT sentence. And, get this... it was GREAT. Not since my days at sleep away camp, over 50 years ago, have I since picked up a rifle and aimed at a target. Yet there I was, ear muffs and all, pointing and shooting a .22 caliber Smith and Wesson handgun!!! I bypassed the goggles, btw. Regardless, I so wished I had a picture of this. EEEKS. I'M SUDDENLY A GANG MEMBER?? Whoa. Besides, it certainly gives a whole new meaning to a senior citizen fun packed gang bang, don't you think? 

In the meantime, there's the picture of my target up above. Just one of three, actually. And, good news! I hit it each and every time! Granted, the target itself was much closer than normal, but hey... this WAS my first time out. It was decided which of the boys would be my instructor and man, was he ever a kind, patient teacher! Experienced, too. Hmmm... let me think.... the barrel, the stance, the hammer, the trigger, the position for holding the gun, the chamber, how to load bullets, all sorts of safety practices, squeeze don't jerk, etc. etc. God... you have no idea how much goes into all this. Plus, I was told this was only 2% of what else I have yet to learn!! The other 98% will apparently be taught to me in future lessons. If I'm lucky, that is. Granted... classes are offered all the time for women interested in self defense, but given these guys... I'm sticking to the best, only.

Supposedly this is all going to help my noted fear of having someone break into the house and either rape or kill me. Learn to use a pistol and boom. I'll be good to go for protecting myself in no time. Well, maybe. I still vote for having a sexy burly guy sleeping next to me and letting HIM to the dirty work. But whatever. As I mentioned earlier: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? I'M GOING TO SHOOT SOMEONE?? I'm going to keep a gun under my pillow or beside my bed?? OMG... SO NOT HAPPENING.

Of course all the Pistol Boys have THEIR guns in their nightstand, but me??? Who the hell has room given all the polish remover, seam rippers, lotions and creams, pens and pads that are in mine? Not to mention the fine chocolate. Now THAT is what I call a woman's drawer. 

Anyway, this was an incredibly happy day for me. Way different than let's say... shopping for shoes in Nordstrom's. All the men made me feel welcomed and offered up some great tips, too. Besides, they get credit for making a great day even better... lunch and WalMart afterwards! Oh yeah... I almost forgot. You should have seen all the extra supplies the boys need to haul around. You think I carry alot in my purse?? Man, going pistol shooting almost requires a mini duffle bag of sorts. 

But I'm glad they do. I like being with people who can slay a dragon at the drop of a hat. All I know is... when I begin attending antique gun shows then I'll KNOW I'm onto something. In the meantime, in turn their for fun and frolic, I've invited the gang over Sunday for Super Bowl. During which time I can only pray a big black bear doesn't come walking along in my back yard. Then I really WILL want a gun at home. To shoot myself, of course. Not the bear.