Redneck Christmas

You know it's going to be a redneck Christmas when Santa's wrapping up guns to go under the tree.  Seriously-- it's an annual family occurrence.  You see, Ed (my brother the farmer) is also an apprentice gunsmith on the side for kicks (note the pun-- totally unintentional).  He's a hunter, so he has guns to hunt with.  Plus he just likes learning about them, fixing and building them, and giving them as gifts.  I can almost guarantee each Christmas that someone's getting a gun under the family tree.  A few years ago, Joe and I both got guns for Christmas.  I feel like a complete bad ass whenever I say out loud, "I have a Kahr Arms 9 mm semi-automatic pistol" or "Yeah, Joe got a 9 mil Glock".  It seems weird to quote my 3-year olds while talking about gangster guns, but "For Real."  We are gun-owners.  A few days ago I went into a national chain store that sells hunting and fishing equipment.  The place does not sound unlike "Rubella," and right now does not feel much different than illness to me either.  I had to go check out a price on a shot gun my hubby mentioned ever-so-obviously on the top of his Christmas list.  I took a number at the gun counter.  Seriously, you have to take a number.  When the gun guy arrived to help number 411, I asked him to give me a price on the gun.  Well, wouldn't you know there are a zillion different versions of these bad boys.  So, to begin with he showed me the $650 version of the gun.  I said, "Actually, it's the one you had on sale a couple weeks ago for less than $200."  He picks up another one right away, as if he knew all along what I was looking for, but this was was a mere $400ish.  "Um, hold on a second."  And I call Ed right there at the counter.  "Ed, tell me exactly what I'm looking for here."  And he tells me.  And the guy picks up the gun I'm looking for, and while it still costs too much, it was the least expensive version of the gun, and of course the one I wanted a quote on.  I just KNOW the gun guy knew what I wanted, and yet I also know he completely took advantage of my gender and overall lack of knowledge about guns.  What a jerk.  I can't tell you how much at that moment I wished with every ounce of wishing power I had that I could "speak gun" and completely annihilate the man with my superior fire arm expertise, forcing him to seek a supervisor to help me with my most difficult questions.  Still, I was clueless, and I left the place without a gun.  His bad.  Actually, I ended up leaving there with an equally exciting-- well, to my spouse anyway-- object which I will not reveal here on the off chance (it's really totally unlikely actually) he should read this blog.  Sorry, Joe.  You'll have to wait for Christmas.

Oh, and just so you know, I never wanted a gun until my first Mothers Day arrived in Rochester, and Joe gave me a class on firearm safety as a gift.  No, I did not have a fire arm, but we lived in Rochester, and Joe traveled a lot, and we both thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a gun in the house.  I must say, the course, taught by both men and women, was awesome.  I learned so much and now feel much more comfortable around guns, which is good, since I expect to see at least one under the tree this year.