Pistol Packing Mama Deuxième Partie

I know that it is eight years later but I thought you might want a follow up on the Pistol Packing Mama post. If you'll remember, I decided to take the handgun class being offered in town. And I passed with flying colors. I might want to change my name to "Dead Eye Dick" 'cause I tore that target up.

So I proudly took my results to the DMV and received my carry permit. Hot damn. And that was what I had...a permit...no gun. Jimmy said that he would give me one of his revolvers. We even researched how he could get it here from there.

Things were going smoothly until someone tried to force the front door in the middle of the night.  Have I told you that story? Anyway, to say that I was terrified would be an understatement. I also found out that I am a better watchdog than the pooch who is occupying space in my house. Well, maybe he's just waiting for the right test. Now, I need a gun.

The first step was to talk to Jimmy. Of course. "We'll take care of it when I come down."  So, we went gun shopping.  I want something that is going to drop them in their tracks. Major firepower.  Automatic.  My law enforcement expert, certified sharpshooter, says revolver. Whelp, I didn't have enough strength to handle the weapon of choice. "I'll send you my revolver."

Anyone who knows me knows that I don't have a lot of patience. I am uneasy in the house. Folks are rifling through the items in the barn/shed/garage. Time's up. Put in a call to my instructor, Barry King, who doesn't sell guns but will gladly go with me to buy one.

Off we go to this shop in Dyersburg. The store has cut its hours (without telling anyone) and is closed that day. That wouldn't have been a major bummer if...I hadn't had to drive over 30 miles with a window that wouldn't go up--in the rain--and then drive back with a window that wouldn't go up--in the rain.  We made plans to meet at the gun show in Memphis that weekend.

Have you ever been to a gun show? OMG! The testosterone hits you when you enter the parking lot. Plenty of women in attendance. Buyers, sellers, looky lou's. And what would a gun show be without someone selling handbags for the guns? But back to the topic. Guns, guns, and more guns. All kinds of guns. Scary-looking guns, the type of guns the maniacs use in those mass shootings.  Lordy, let me get my gun and get the hell out of dodge.

Mr. King is on the lookout for me. He directs me to a vendor he has "faith" in. She lays out several items that she thinks I might like. Oh, look!  This one has a pink handle.  You know that I like pink.  Too many choices.  Some are too heavy and all I want, at this point, is to point and shoot. Made my purchase, complete with bullets, a handbag, and came home.

Several weeks later, I received a call. "You bought a gun?" Yep, Mr. Smith and Wesson now reside at Serendipity.

All the Best.