So earlier today, Terry says to me (I’d been finishing the new mantel for the fireplace) “Are you hands clean? Let’s go into town.”
Where are we going? I ask
You’ll see. He said.
Hm. I thought. A new ring? Mink lined gloves? What would be need me to have clean hands for?
I couldn’t figure it out.
Then he pulled into the local Gun Store.
Hum. I thought.
So we looked around. That one’s nice, but too big. Oh, that one is a great big compensator, it’s so big it’s silly.
Hey look over here, at this one. It’s a Colt (would be like buying a Cadillac, or maybe a Viking stove), and a little one.
I’ve always like the way the Peacemakers look, and the grip style is really well balanced and all, but they’re bigger than I am interested in, at .38 and .44 caliber. I like to shoot a .22…little kick, not real heavy, a nice girly gun. It’s a Colt Scout!
And so it is, because he’s completely incapable of thinking “I’ll get her a gun for Christmas” the day after Thanksgiving, then keeping it to himself until December 25. I also got a lovely little carry case and a couple of boxes of ammunition.
Armadillos of Bulloch County, Fear Me.