Monday, November 28

I know what you're thinking, "Did she fire six shots or only five?"

You always remember your firsts. Joe Catalano my freshman year. A corn dog at age eight (raised vegetarian until 12). Kool and The Gang at Six Flags Stadium. Escorted into the Ale -n- Wich pub at nineteen.

And yesterday will prove no exception. The in-laws hunt. At my second Thanksgiving table, new family members whispered, then turn to me, "Amber wants to give her new aunt a thrill. You ever shot a gun before?" Naturally, I answered truthfully and it was on! All of them were packin', too...

My brother-in-law and his daughter set up a target and pulled two rifles outta the car- a .44 and 270 with a scope. With the appoximate size of 300 yards away, I hit the buffalo with 50% accuracy (six rounds) and once in the "kill zone." But once is good enough, no? So now I'm like- I shot a rifle, my shoulder is sore a little, the power is a little scary, whatev.

I turn around, and there's my father-in-law standing with his .44 Magnum Revolver, "You wanna try this?"


I'll be damned if that shit didn't make me want to run out and join the fucking NRA yesterday. My estrogen took a back seat right quick.

Now, I'm in this weird funk. It's all I can think about. SO scary and SO exciting. To become a more proficient marksman- you need to own one. The dilemma: I told my husband no guns in the house (before yesterday, obviously).

However, like a young Mike Tyson, dripping in gold, walking down the streets of Brooklyn at 2am, I'd leave the doors unlocked- daring someone to step inside....


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