Well, it was the second round of trap in my Indiana follies today.
However, Sheriff Mike took Bug and I to the local conservation club, not the one far, far away in the land of the rich and free, but right in my back yard. And where it was packed full of men and all were geezers. I was the only female. They stared at me.
I was nervous.
As I waited for our turn, I was more nervous. I did watch several of them miss... a lot. But they were all having fun and laughing. That part was a relief. They seemed like a good group of men...er...geezers.
It was our turn, along with 3 others. I hesitated because the announcing made a reference to what I thought was sort of like my name but wasn't my name. I turned and gave Sheriff Mike the Fargo rookie stare down.
SHERIFF MIKE: What?
ME: You don't even know my name? OMG. WTF?
SHERIFF MIKE: I got your name wrong? That's what I thought your note said.
ME: My note cancelling on you the last time?
SHERIFF MIKE: Yeah.
ME: You mean you didn't know my name all these months? Nor bothered to know?
SHERIFF MIKE: Uh.
SHERIFF MIKE: I really got your name wrong?
ME: Yeah. Epic fail. I have messy handwriting. I can't believe you didn't know my name. I feel so cheap.
SHERIFF MIKE: I will go hang my head in shame.
ME: *crickets* Pfst. Yeah.
So the first round...the first 13 were AWESOME! I heard whispers in the background...the crowd roared...and then...
...some geezer said, "She shoots damn good for a girl."
I don't know why I didn't embrace that comment and continue on my fantastic streak of greatness. I must have heard the magic words of kryptonite and I began melting into the shooting plank. I sucked. I was missing. Then I hit. I had two stove pipes. Then I would miss. Then I had the range master tell me to slow down as I was reloading too fast. I was off my game. The words were in my head. I defeated myself. It was pitiful. Like rookie-ness.
At the end of the first round, I was disgusted with myself.
There was a long lag time before the next round, so I took the time to get my head out of my ass. It was a process.
While I was contemplating the maneuver, a geezer came up to me and spoke to me about my shooting. He complimented me and told me he wished there were more "ladies" that came out to shoot. I looked around and then focused back on him and realized he was talking about me. Or perhaps it was because my head was still in my ass and I couldn't see very well to communicate.
He was nice to chat with and I enjoyed his company. Curiosity soon killed the cats and they came over to me one by one. I laughed my ass off when the range master told me the shotgun I was shooting with had too long of a stock and Sheriff Mike should shorten it for me. Yeah. Funny. He about died as that suggestion was made.
ME: Yeah. Let's get a chain saw out and cut that $4,000 gun of yours up to fit me. Great idea.
SHERIFF MIKE: Uh.
ME: It's the least you could do since you don't even know my name.
At this point he got red in the face.
RANGE MASTER: He got your name wrong?
RANGE MASTER: Oh, dear, we can change it.
ME: It's Ok. What he told you is better than Margaret.
RANGE MASTER: You don't look like a Margaret.
ME: Nope. Everyone says that. I think I will stick with that exotic name he gave you tonight.
RANGE MASTER: Ok. Suit yourself, dear. Keep up that good shooting.
His cheerfulness got my mind off my head games I was playing with myself and back in the mindset to shoot again with cop sense and concentration...or some shit like that.
The second round...much better. Although it was getting darker, and I couldn't see worth a darn, I was hitting the pigeons. And concentrating. And finally in my groove. In the end the geezers just said "Great shooting" and had dropped the "for a girl." I told them it was my second time which raised eyebrows. Is it wrong I didn't mention the cop thing? Neither did Sheriff Mike.
All's well that end's well.
Especially for Margaret. Wherever she is.