Funny thing happened yesterday, I went across the street to meet the neighbors. I’d already Amy, when her dog got run over a year ago, and finally had a chance to meet Oscar, her husband. Interesting fella, a pugnacious ex-Marine (there’s NO SUCH THING as an EX-MARINE! he shouted) who invited me in, then became embarrassed when I stared at the M-4 on the kitchen counter (it’s a gun, a big fat one)
“Oop,” he said, “been out target practicing…(blush)” well, as much as a Hispanic ex Marine (there’s NO SUCH THING as an EX-MARINE! he shouted) from Miami *can* blush about such things. Then he put it away.
I laughed, and told him I had no issues with his second amendment rights. Tho I did wonder about the 4 kids (one of them mine) running around, with that THING on the kitchen counter.
We talked about guns a bit. I whined about the way my revolver sticks, and he offered to fix it. I covered my face with my hands and wailed “but i don’t even KNOOOOW YOOOU!” so he kindly referred me to a local gunsmith. “Thanks,” I said,” I’d feel better about that.” “But,” he replied,” you DO know where I live.”
So, perhaps I feel a bit safer, knowing a pugnacious ex-Marine (there’s NO SUCH THING as an EX-MARINE! he shouted) lives right across the street, well armed and all.
Amy and I bonded a bit over the whole Dress Blues issue and how Marines surely have the finest uniforms EVER. Yeaaah.
Oscar admitted that his uniform was a closet filler now, as he was too…erm…well….Stocky (yeah, Stocky, that’s the word) for it to fit right anymore.