Happiness Is a Warm Gun
I’m not into guns. I don’t know how to use one, meaning (at least, to me) I don’t need to have one.
That doesn’t preclude conversations like this:
Me: I’m walking 444 miles through the middle of Nowhere. The Natchez Trace.
Other person: Wow. Who’s going with you?
Me: I’m doing it alone.
Other person: What if you’re kidnapped/attacked/raped/stabbed/murdered/sold as a sex slave?????
Me: *Sigh* (Why do people always jump to the worst possible outcomes?) I guess any of those things COULD happen……….
Other person: Well???? How are you going to protect yourself?????
Me: Run away?? Dial emergency on my iPhone?? Take out a copy of my novel and start talking about it?? Because, Lord knows, that sends most people in my face-to-face life fleeing in the other direction.
Other person: Andra. Come on. You need a weapon of some sort.
Other person: Something you can whip out and point at them and—
Other person: incapacitate them. Like, you could shoot a knee cap, or—
Me: I don’t know anything about guns. I don’t WANT to know anything about guns.
Other person: All I’m saying is I think you’re insane for doing this alone. Every step you take, some predator will likely be shadowing you, ready to strike………have a GREAT time!
I’ve had a variant of this conversation so many times I’ve lost count. I’ve finally had enough. I decided to seek counsel from the one Expert I know and trust in matters of weaponry, firearms, target practice and self-defense.
I picked up the phone.
And I called my mother.