In a perfect illustration of the yin and yang odd coupling that is my marriage, Bu says he's picking up his dad's gun this weekend. We have a talk about safety, trigger lock whatsits and 12-pound pressure somethings and ammo and whatnot. And there will be no animal slaughter (even though technically hunting is better than meat industry factory farms, but... whatever...EW) but I'm freaked out a little because I have a visceral irrational aversion to firearms. Bu sold me on the education aspect- that kids (and mommies?) who are trained to handle guns safely are... safer. And, I'm sort of thinking shooting at a target might be kind of cool. I can pretend we're Mulder & Scully. Or Bones & Boothe. But I'm having minor squick.
My response, after the discussion assures me that this is a safe thing, an appropriate family heirloom for the son of a cop, is to say, "Well, then I'm putting a rainbow sticker on my car." He had previously asked me not to do so, perhaps a tiny bit fearing that should he drive my car, some random stranger in traffic might assume he's queer, but more because he patently does not get that liberal hippie chicks have an innate urge to plaster our clunkers with colorful statements. So right this second I'm going to buy a small, adorable rainbow square for Goldie.
Because I love the gays. And this video as well: