Annie Oakley

The other evening as I sat flipping through my new spring shoes catalog, marking pages and studying styles (exhausting work I assure you), what did Captain Cavedweller do but interrupt my shoe-shopping frenzy.

You should go to this,” he said, throwing  a page out of the newspaper into my lap.

The dog show or the criminal trial?” I asked, not particularly excited at the prospect of either.

Releasing a long-suffering sigh, he reached over and tapped at an article. “This, you should go to this.

“This,” so it turns out, is a gun class for women.

Huh?

While Hubby enjoys shooting and belongs to a gun club, it’s not really my cup of tea. Or my cup of anything. The one and only time he took me out shooting, I turned my head and squeezed my eyes shut every time I pulled the trigger.

Armed weapon + frightened shooter + closed eyes = potential disaster.

Not only that, but I’d like to retain what little bit of hearing I still have left.

Why on earth would I want to go to this class?” I asked Captain Cavedweller, who sat pretending to ignore my looks of question and disbelief.

It would be fun,” he said. “And no guys are allowed. Just girls. I really think you should go.”

But why?” I whined.

Because,” he stated, continuing to flip through the newspaper.

That isn’t a reason,” I said. “Why should I go?”

Because I want you to,” he said with a smile that most generally makes my heart melt in little puddles.

The light bulb finally went off  – he wanted me to take the class so I would go shooting with him. Now it made perfect sense.

I finally agreed I would take the class, but only if I could find someone to go with me. I emailed Most Wonderful Mother-in-Law who was more than happy to agree to take the class.

When I told Hubby, he smiled and handed me these…

A pair of pink-framed safety glasses.  Goodness gracious,  it’s a done deal, now.

I’ll let you know how it turns out. Wish me luck!

She Who Will Never Be the Next Annie Oakley

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