Sunday, Bug and I spend the day with Sheriff Mike at the range.
We stunk up the range.
It was the first time since last year, I had shot a shotgun. Keeping your practice alive through osmosis does not work, just so you know. Cleaning and oiling your gun...loving on it during the winter months, preparing ahead with ammo...does not mean you will be a sure shot come spring thaw. The gun does not listen. The gun does not send out good shooting vibes. I should have switched to Christian prayer and not Buddhism or the Golden Rule or Karma or the Theory Of Osmosis.
MARK: Nice you could come out of hibernation, Fargo.
ME: Yep. You are lucky I am here today. It's 39 degrees. I said 40 was my bottom limit. I don't have to shoot in the cold anymore. I was tricked.
MARK: It's supposed to be 43 by 4:00.
ME: The party is almost over by then.
MARK: We lost of few this winter. Three of us.
ME: Really? (sad) Who? ( I was afraid it was George)
Mark rattled off the list and I knew about one of them, but not the other two. Sad to see the boys go home. George was not one of them.
MARK: I checked on George. He said it was too damned cold. (big grin)
So...we all signed up for our matches. They started off stinking up the range, then they got in their groove and Bug was impressed by their marksmanship. We arrived a little late. We didn't get on the first shoot line. I didn't get on the second one either, but Sheriff Mike did.
He was the third shooter. Sheriff Mike had 3 misfires (not enough gun powder in the reloads).
MERYL: MIKE! You should go get your BB ammo.
MERYL: Before beer. The stuff you made before beer.
(30 old men laughing)
MIKE: I will be right back.
BUG: Mommy, why is Mike's gun not firing?
ME: Bad ammo.
BUG: Oh, no. Could he get hurt?
ME: Not with that ammo. (big cheesy grin)
BUG: He feels silly, doesn't he?
ME: Probably, but these guys don't care. It's just for fun. Something to tease about.
BUG: I want to practice before I go up there.
BUG: I mean alone in another place with no one but you around.
BUG: Are they hard to shoot at?
ME: The birds?
BUG: The orange frisbee things.
ME: They call them pigeons or "birds.
BUG: They are clay. They look like frisbees.
ME: Maybe that was BB.
BUG: Before beer?
It was soon my turn to line up for a trap shoot match. So...sure enough when I got back to the truck to load up for my match....there was an AB and BB segregation of ammo. Of course, I took the BB ammo. I wasn't going to look stupid.
First go ahead to call, "PULL!" I fired. Nothing.
I pulled that shell out and made sure everything was OKIE DOKIE and fired again.
Dear God, it's me Fargo. Help me. I look really really stupid right now and my face is red and I want to hide in a hole.
Then...God hit me with a rock...in the vagina.
I looked over at Mark and then at Mike and it dawned on me what a stupid )#$^#&$)@ f*cktard I was.
MIKE/MARK: Was it the safety? (All nice and quiet, gentlemanly)
ME: Yep. Duh. (embarrassed) Safety! Safety, everyone! Blond moment!
(Relief from the crowd)
No one wants to see a girl get blown up at the range by reloaded ammo malfunctions.
PALM TO FOREHEAD.
Some days I wish there were "do-overs".