See that itty bitty target next to the hat? I shot a .22 rifle yesterday. A big box of rimfire and a rifle and I think I'd be happy all day long. (I love bolt action. There is just something so neat about working that thing back and forth and making the cartridge pop out. Is that weird?) It was only about 10 yards away so I could hardly miss - but, hey, at least it's a start.
So now I need a rifle. I should probably get another job or win the lottery or start selling plasma - this shooty stuff is getting expensive!
I really like summer but I do have my limits. The hotter it gets, the more I start to consider open carry. Seriously. I am dangerously close to the point where I whine, "It is 95 degrees outside, I don't have A/C, I can't layer clothing, I just caaaaan't..." I get swoony and a little bit cranky when I'm hot. My ancestors were of the pale blue variety, accustomed to soft mists and cool gray skies - at the merest hint of sunlight we freckle in places you can only imagine (like inside the ears, duh. What were you thinking?), melt into wretched, sweaty sunburned puddles, and while our hair sometimes turns white early in life, it does absolutely nothing to help reflect heat.
So I wore a long tank top and cargo pants to the grocery store. I had my Bersa Thunder .380 holstered at the small of my back, covered by the shirt. I was printing like crazy and learned that a push-up bra comes in handy. Cleavage can be a great distraction from the other lumps in your shirt. Plus, since I have my second amendment rights and a permit, I'm starting to not really care what anyone thinks. (although if someone ever asks, I think I might tell them it's a colostomy bag. Chances are pretty good that they'll leave me alone after that.)