Look Who’s Packin’

My niece, DQ, takes care of my mother.  In fact, Mom has been living on a bed in her living room for almost a year now.  In general, she does a good job – i sure as hell don’t want Mom in my living room, so i’m judicious when throwing rocks.

My niece, DQ, is getting her “concealed carry” gun permit next weekend, and has been enthusiastically shopping for a gun.  Trying to decide between a  revolver or semi-auto.  Or maybe the pretty pink* one that goes with her “Hello Kitty!” sweatshirts?  Probably “semi” – doesn’t that mean less loading and more bullets?

As i watched the thread play out on her facebook page, i was clubbed over the head by the following thought:  “These are not my people!”

Mind you, i have no problem with gun ownership – if i lived more than a 15 minutes away from police response**, i’d probably have a few outside dogs and a sawed off shotgun locked up somewhere in my home.  Concealed carry?  The right to legally strap a handgun under your coat, in your purse, or down the butt-crack of your sweatpants.

i just don’t get it.  Her husband, BJ, is a sportsman, with a phenomenal gun collection – three locked gun cabinets in their utility room.  So it’s not like they don’t already have guns in the household…  She really doesn’t go anywhere other than doctors appointments, the grocery store, and the WalMarts.  Takes Mom to play bingo once a month. 

Guess she’s afraid of something.  Just like her mother

While i’ll never understand, i can guarantee that i’m not planning to drop in unexpectedly on them anytime soon.

*Google “pink handgun” and all sorts of fashionable weaponry pops up.  For the true ‘femme fatale’ i suppose…

** i’m safe.  there’s a donut shop just around the corner…