For Christmas this year I got Sir D something I knew he would love. Something I know nothing about. I spoke his love language, you could say.
I paid for him to take the class at our local shooting range to get his concealed handgun license.
When he opened that envelope and saw that sad little printed-out-on-a-cheap-printer-at-the-gun-range gift certificate telling him everything he needed to legally tote a firearm had been paid for, well let’s just say he was a happy man.
(Yes, that is his 'Happy Man' look.)
Today, we went to early church and then came home. I’m a bit worn out from all the holiday festivities and the thought of sitting for the entire morning on those uncomfortable church chairs was more than my sad achy joints could take, because apparently I am 80. Once we got home Sir D decided he needed to go to the gun show.
Today is the last day it is going on and he simply had to go. The boys decided to stay for 2nd service at church so they were not home. I had no intention of going to the gun show; I would have rather stayed and sat on the horrid church chairs for 2 more hours than go walking around the gun show. Eve was also not too keen on spending her Sunday afternoon looking at various weaponry. Know who was interested? Ann.
She even dressed the part. She just left with Sir D in his Chevy Pick-up wearing green and pink camo pants, a pink shirt, pink cowboy boots and a camo cowboy hat.
And I totally let her.
We do what we can to perpetuate the myth.
I’m only sad I forgot to take a picture. And I am a little worried she’ll come home with a pink pocket revolver. This is Texas after-all.