Living With The Law

Life around my house is always interesting. Partly I guess because Mr. Wonderful is used to dealing with criminals (he's a cop) and he carries a really big gun and all kinds of other cop stuff. On any given day the kitchen table chair has a ballistics vest hanging off of it. There's always a pistol nearby. And usually something larger than that, too. During the romantic wine and roses days at the beginning of our marriage, I had to get used to snuggling up in bed and right above my head, see a gun rack with a very large rifle resting in it. That was a little bizarre at first.

I know that I said I was used to guns and critter shooting from my childhood but that might have been a bit of an editorial stretch. My brothers and cousins shot critters and my aunt who lived across the pond was never without her trusty 22 rifle but I wasn't the one doing the shooting. I knew gun safety (somewhat) and I knew they were loud because I could hear the boys from a 1/2 mile off blasting something with their shotguns, but I didn't actually cozy up to a 12 gauge or AK or anything like that.

Mr. Wonderful, my brave, strong supercop changed all that pretty quickly. One of our dates consisted of lessons in shooting a HUGE, MEAN, LOUD, POWERFUL, SCARY rifle. I was scared witless. See the picture of me sitting there holding that rifle like I do it every day? Nah. That was pretty early on in my lessons. Notice how I managed to show off my fresh manicure, while trying to look nonchalant leaning up against a tree with spiders and snakes and bugs OH MY? Nope. I was quaking.

My first attempt at shooting the rifle pictured above was pretty funny now that I think back on it. My beloved superfuzz set the gun up with about 75,000 rounds of ammo or so it seemed, and he had me hold it up to my shoulder and get used to handling it. That took a few minutes because I was scared that the thing was going to start firing when I wasn't ready. I finally made it over that hump then the actual shooting part of the lesson began. I am not exaggerating when I say that it took me about 10 tries before I could ever pull the trigger! I'd get the rifle up to my shoulder, tilt my head and line up the sights, put my finger in the trigger area and then start shaking like a leaf. I was so afraid that the shot would knock me off of my feet, I couldn't get around to finding out! I tried deep breathing, and visualization, and chanting, and yoga but I was still scared. We're talking major hiney cringes!

I have to give my man credit; he never laughed at me or got impatient. He let me take 10 (or 500) tries before I pulled the trigger and he was there to catch me if I fell. WHICH I DIDN'T. I'm sure he got a kick out my delight when we walked to the target and I saw what a huge hole I made. I can't say that I immediately hoisted the gun and fired off another 74,999 rounds in rapid succession. I continued to start and stop and start and stop before firing but eventually I mastered it. Now, I looooooove that gun. I even out-shot (is that a word?) Mr. Man! And he is an excellent marksman! Of course, I did a major victory dance and sang a song (for 2 1/2 days) about how I hit the can from 100 yards away and he didn't and I did it on the first shot. I like to have my picture taken with the gun, too. It's pretty. So am I. I'm even prettier when I'm holding it. Doncha think? You'd better say yes! Just kidding.

Mr. Superfuzz and I have even shown some of our family members what fun holding a really big, scary, powerful (UNLOADED) gun can be. See?

 

I like the one of my sis in law and my brother. I think that her stance shows exactly what she'd like to do with him sometimes. I don't blame her a bit. I had to grow up with the guy!

And, aren't I good mom by letting my darling daughters play with weapons? They actually thought it was pretty cool that they got to pose for pictures with them. It's not the typical every day kind of portrait most people have in their photo albums that's for sure.

I guess Mr. Wonderful is beginning to wear off on us some. We hold guns. Some of us fire them. In the woods. Where there are bugs and spiders. But some of us still have good manicures, even if we ARE in the woods shooting guns. You can't take the city out of the girl. No way.