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.
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