My friend is getting married this Sunday, and I have the honor of being a bridesmaid. I am so excited for her. She deserves so much happiness. She is a good, good, good person, down to her very core. I've mentioned this story before, but it bears repeating. When my dad was very ill in the hospital, she visited him. Out of the blue. Without even mentioning anything to me. Just because she wanted to. And she brought him treats. Some of my closest family members who live in the same town as the hospital didn't visit him. Ever. But she did. Because she is so very good and kind and loving. And I can barely remember this act without crying, because it meant so much to me. More than she knows.
And the fella she's getting hitched to is pretty darn cool, too. I hope he knows how lucky he is.
BUT! Before marriage and the baby carriage comes the bachelorette party, which we celebrated Saturday. And the bride-to-be wanted to go to a gun range. So we did!
Eight girls. Zero experience. One dangerous firearm. Priceless.
I don't know what I expected, but I certainly didn't know to bring someone with previous handgun shooting experience. Which I did not do. Luckily, we charmed the Gruff Range Overlord. We got a gun, a quick and dirty explanation of how it pretty much works, and were sent into the range with a weapon.
Remember readers: Guns don't kill people. Inexperienced bachelorette partygoers kill people.
Luckily, there was a kind gentleman in another range lane who helped to explain the process further. On principle, I despise relying upon men to show women how things are done, but in this case the advice was greatly appreciated. So the first three girls learned how to shoot, and taught the rest of us as we donned protective glasses and earmuff thingers and cycled in and out of the range.
The bride seemed to have an awesome time.
They should really clean those windows more often. Don't they know my photo-op was foggy? Sheesh.
The bride, like an old pro, showed me how it was done, and I only broke the gun twice.
Future Clint Eastwood. Or perhaps Charles Bronson. Or gang member. Congrats!
The Gruff Range Overlord was suitably
terrified impressed by the bride's shooting handiwork.
Dirty Harriets, every one of 'em.
After working up an appetite, we went for dinner at Dave and Buster's. Where else?
I think the party was a success. I know the wedding will be. Congratulations, Dedracula, from the bottom of my heart.