I Bought a Gun

The other day DH Matt and I went to buy my first gun ever. I was bouncing in my seat as we drove to Big 5 (my son wonders why it's called that...Yeah, why?) I felt just the way you do when you're strapping in for a roller coaster ride. My stomach was jumping in excitement. My husband, having bought his own shotgun weeks before, was playing it cool and was very amused at my excitement. Yeah, the week he bought his, and for the next three weeks after, I must have heard the word "shotgun" ten times every day.
We were looking for a "critter rifle", something light enough for a petite woman to handle yet that would let a bear know that I am not someone to mess with. Our property is on the "bear trail", a shortcut to a campground on our side of the lake where they can often raid the tents, garbage, and cars of naive campers. Once we have a house there, the bears will check to see how naive we are.
We were interested in a Mossberg .330 rifle, on sale for under $400. It's not one of the new pieces that are semi-automatic (I was disappointed...Charlie's angels had cool guns, I always kind of pictured my self as a potential 4th angel when I was growing up). I handled the rifle, and immediately had bluing all over myself even though DH and the gun salesman had been handling the same rifle for many minutes before me. This was a real confidence builder. It was the only gun that fit our profile on offer, so we said "yes". I was a bit, as I said before, let down that it wasn't something BAD , but none of my female friends have their own gun, so anything is cool. Yes, that does sound juvenile, but we are talking about guns here. This is not a Ghandi moment.
I had to fill out the forms, because DH had an old address on his driver's license and he'd had to jump through hoops when he bought his gun. I had a bad moment right at the start. It asked for my weight. I told DH that the forms were, indeed, his to fill out. He grinned, and told me to put down the same weight as my driver's license says it is. He knew that he was on firm ground there, as I have a coffee cup that says, "My dream is to actually be the weight that my driver's license says that it is". Okay, that crisis was over. Now the salesman wants to see and copy my drivers license. Understand, I never in all of my life had a driver's license which was less than flattering. I would have loved to have taken any one of those, blown it up, and put it on the wall. This drivers license, though, is as if all of my picture karma caught up with me in one fell picture. Wincing, I dug the loathsome thing out and handed it over. He did a double take, I swear. "It's not me, it's my evil twin", I assured him.
The forms I had to fill out were otherwise hysterically funny. The kind of forms that only a very earnest committee could create. I had to answer many questions "yes" or "no". Have I committed a crime? Do I use illegal drugs? Am I purchasing this gun for illicit reasons? No wonder the bears think we're naive. Then I had to answer four similar questions verbally. I guess that the intent behind these questions is that hardened criminals, faced with these tough questions, will immediately break down and confess to their illicit actions. I, being a soft, blond innocent type, kept my cool (thinking firmly of bears) and passed this verbal test with flying colors. It did help that the salesman looked bored. We paid, and now we wait two weeks.
Then, hoo-boy, I get to sight in my new weapon. Let's hope I look really cool...and the bluing stays where it belongs.