"A free people ought...to be armed...."

So last night, I throw something out to the little lady. With a grin and a joking tone I said, “You know honey, there is a gun show tomorrow. I was thinking you could just drop me off in the morning on your way to church and pick me up on your way home.” Expecting her to laugh and send me back to my room without supper, I was floored when she said, “Sure, babe.” and the world stood still for a moment.

I decided to test the waters one time to be sure of what I had heard, “So what time do you want me ready and A.I.S?” Now, now is when the jeering mockery comes and she tells me to get a grip or something of the like.

“Can you be ready to go by 9 A.M.?”

What the...

You have heard of psychological warfare, I'm sure. At that moment I wouldn't have been surprised to hear the voice of Hanoi Hanna burst from my living room speakers saying, “How are you G.I. Joe? Go to the gun show and enjoy it. Nothing bad can come of this.”

No list of demands, no honey-do addendums and no call to the round table for discussion. This was looking serious indeed. I spent the rest of the night waiting for the “approach”. You know what I am talking about. The nonchalant gait, the sigh as she sits herself down in my proximity and says something like, “So...Since you are going to this show, do you think you can...” *insert any task(s) short of knitting a sweater for my mother-in-law* It never came...

I got up this morning with a sparkle in the eye and a spring in my step. I got dressed and was promptly dropped off on the front stoop of the civic center and I was on my way. My reasons for visiting the show, other than sheer enjoyment, was to make a trade. I had a darling piece of work called a Kimber Custom Classic .45 ACP. This is a great weapon and one I would recommend to anyone looking for a 1911 in all its glory. The only problem I had with her was she was too big to conceal properly. Wardrobe would have to be significantly changed to hide that full length vixen and I don't fancy adding a tie-around-the-waist sweater to every ensemble I might choose (or any for that matter). Solution - I had to let her go. So with a couple hours to scan the field, I checked my weapon (they require that a tie wrap be placed from inside the trigger guard to the rear of the slide), paid my entry fee and entered Santa's wonderland.

To borrow a line from Mr. Thoreau - “ Instead of singing like the birds, I silently smiled at my incessant good fortune.” There were tables upon tables of pistols, rifles, shotguns, knives, books, and every other field related accessory one might desire. A place a person like myself could spend an entire day exploring (and annoying a lot of salesman with incessant questions).

I put my hands on a lot of pistols trying to find one that felt just right. You see, I have hands like a lumberjack and many of the ultra-compact models didn't have enough grip real estate to wrap all of my fingers around. Now I enjoy a challenge, but facing down a deranged booger-eater with 1.5 fingers flapping in the wind is not one I am up for. After two entire circuits of perusing, my eye settled on a Para-Ordnance P12 .45. It was used but I had no problem with that. What I did have a problem with was the tie wrap that prevented me from racking the slide to check the internals. I never liked blind dates growing up and I was not about to purchase/swap for a weapon I couldn't put my beady little eyeball all up, down and sideways. It took a mischievous wink and an “I'll show you mine if you show me yours” to get the gentleman to make a quick snip. The Para looked in decent shape. She needed a good stripping and cleaning but this dame was coming home with me if I could swing it.

I come from a long line of tight-wads. It has been said of my Father that he could hear a dollar drop in a snow storm and I see that as a compliment. So you see, it's in my blood. I put on my dealer's smirk and the bartering began. I wanted a dead swap. I had no desire to pay any money out of pocket and that was the only way she was coming home with me. In the south, bartering is not only a past-time, some folks will get down right offended it you don't. He called me cheap, asked if my wife didn't give me enough allowance to throw some money into the trade, said I was robbing him, said I was putting him in an awkward position, I think he even might have talked about my Momma. I countered in kind – no money, seven kids to feed, had a bad heart, worried about illegals, and that I really did know who my Father was. It ended with him snorting in mock disgust and relenting. I am sure he was smiling as he put his Kimber under the counter and I turned to find the cashier. Background check completed, I had my new toy and about 45 minutes to kill while waiting for my wife to return. I used that time to pick up some ball ammo and a pancake holster for my new addition to the family. The Mrs. picked me up where she dropped me off and we went back home.

I took my new toy out to the field and put 50 rounds through her as I asked multiple water filled milk jugs, “Are you Sara Conner?”. I had a few problems feeding rounds because of a filthy ramp and it looks like I am going to have to get a new recoil spring, but I have to say that I am a happy camper.

I think there will be no demand for recompense from my wife. But, I know this will be filed away in her memory banks as ammunition for a future disagreement. How is it that women can't remember to change the oil but remember “the time you...” ;->

A great day all around.