Yesterday I mentioned on Twitter it was gun cleaning day, which led to the following conversation with my fellow Carina Press author, Cathy Pegau, which I’ll share here because it amused me and not everybody’s on Twitter.
Me: He won’t let me have the .22 painted pink, which is why I need my own.
Cathy: Every woman needs her own, I think. Especially when the apocalypse hits.
Me: Yes. Mr S would grab the gun, trip me, then run like hell.
Cathy: Heh. At least he wouldn’t shoot you in the leg. Tripping gives you a chance.
Me: That’s a sign of true love.
And that’s why we’ve managed nineteen years of marriage—when the apocalypse comes, I know the man won’t shoot me in the leg.
It would be a waste of ammo. Tripping you accomplishes the same purpose — delays you enough for him to get away. When the apocalypse arrives, every bullet will count.
But, really, he’ll be hauling the larger caliber stuff. You should be able to snag the .22 easy. But I thought you had that nice Glock? Heck, you can shoot HIM in the leg after he trips you.
Oh my goodness, I am sorry I missed that on Twitter. Very funny! My husband and I have the same sense of humor with each other.
I can not imagine how it offended anyone on Twitter. People are too serious sometimes. I know what you mean about a pink gun. I want a pink handgun. Just for target shooting, people..lol. And don’t worry I am so not good at hitting moving targets. When we clay pigeon shoot my poor husband has to prop the clays in a tree for me, instead of throwing them…lol.
LOL! Hey, that’s true love for you And very true, Jean