Wearing a Gun  

As usual, neighbor Amy had me in stitches. She didn’t mind that I wrote about her gun, so here is her story:

Amy grew up in the South, so guns were nothing new to her.  Her dad had guns, and so did husband Ron.  Unlike me, she shot guns herself.  She also owned a pistol.  I’m not sure why she recently got a conceal and carry license.  Possibly there was a discussion in her church after the mass shooting of people in a Bible study group in South Carolina.  Also, her moving date is coming up.  She’ll be leaving our bucolic area to live in a city.  In any case, she took the course, had the proper credentials with her, and went to the pawn shop in Waynesville.  I was thrilled to be there running errands with her, because I had never been in a pawn shop before.  While she looked at guns, I checked out the jewelry, all the rings, anyway.  The shop had mostly firearms and musical instruments.  She bought a small pistol and went back another day for a holster.

We were riding in the car when Amy told me about wearing the gun.  She was working around the house and decided she might as well get used to having it on her.  The telephone was in her usual pocket with the gun in the holster above it.  Somehow she butt dialed one of her nieces and gradually became aware that voices were coming from her pocket.  By this time in the story, we were parked.  She demonstrated what happened.  In fumbling quickly for the phone, she drew out the gun instead.  There in the car she had the gun in her hand, and with mock horror, was looking down the barrel pointed toward her face.

She exclaimed, “What if I shot myself in the face with a loaded gun?  They’d say the cause of death was trying to answer the phone!  I think I’m going to have to change which pocket I use for the phone.”