I have never had to think about guns. Guns are things that make too much noise when the TV is on and bore me in the movies. Guns and car chases – yawn! Guns are the horror of war, or violent crime or the senseless, incomprehensible murders of too many young school children by another disturbed child who misunderstands Marilyn Manson.
I don’t have a gun in my house. What would I do with it? Defend myself? By shooting, possibly killing someone? I pray every day for God to keep me safe and I believe that the ‘Guy in the Sky’ does just that. May He ever continue! So I’m one of those people who does not handle a gun. I’ve never shot a gun. I have no interest in shooting a gun and I will not have a gun in my house.
So a few weeks ago a friend of my guy walked into our house with a gun in a shoulder holster. He had this strut about him. He was caressing the holster. He wanted it to be noticed that he was ‘packing a piece’. For God’s sake! Surely a shoulder holster should hide under your armpit. He had it sitting on his chest like a left breast. Really? WTF? Do they never grow up? I looked to heaven and begged God to give me patience.
“What’s that”? I asked.
“It’s a gun”. He told me proudly, puffing out his chest. He took gun out of the holster and was stroking it like a whore with a millionaire’s cock. Are you kidding me? Did he see that in the movies?
“Get it out of here”.
He started to say something but I stopped him. I was not interested.
“I am serious. This is our home. Have some respect. Put it in your car, or something. I don’t care, but take it out of this house immediately – please”.
This is still South Africa and in South Africa stuff happens and people need to protect themselves. I get that. But we were in Zimbali Estates, which has more security than Mahlamba Ndlopfu, the residence of the nation’s President. What are you bringing a gun here for? To protect you from what? And what grown-ass man struts around with a gun on his chest like he thinks he’s Wyatt Urp or Dirty Harry “Do you feel lucky punk”?
Now, the object of my affections has a way of not saying anything or giving anything away with an expression. He stays neutral and I’ve learned that neutral is how he gets seriously mad. With him neutral is not good. When he’s ordinarily angry or mildly cross he has plenty to say. When he’s furious – neutral. He observed. He gave me that steely calm look that I’ve come to know, and he said neutral nothing. It was all in the eyes.
Is he out of his mind? He’s mad at me? Does he not see that this 50yr old juvenile moron is going to blunder? I could see it. People have guns. Lord knows in my home in Jozi, with my Dad’s security and all that was going on lots of people had guns. Did we ever see those guns? Never! Why? Because they were responsible people who didn’t need to show off. They respected the household. They knew what a gun was for. They were men at war. They were MK soldiers. They had guns. We never saw those guns.
Now this blockhead is coming into the safest real estate in South Africa with a gun in a shoulder holster over his asinine black “Swagga”! tee-shirt. With his ludicrous yellow “Dope” hiphop cap and his plastic oversized sunglasses looking like his 14yr old son is his style role model. I despair for him. Really, I despair. Why is the object of my love and affection even acquainted with this fool? Why does a businessman of excellent breeding, good style and superior education make this cretin his friend?
No I have nothing nice to say. There is a lot that went before this. This man is one of those things that’s sent to try me and I am tried. This, however, as far as I was concerned, was the living equivalent of the straw that broke the camel’s back. You come into our home with a gun and a worse than idiotic ‘look at me’ attitude that could only herald unparalleled, herculean calamity? Take that shit to your own house you colossal nincompoop! He would never. His wife would never stand for it. I couldn’t have been more enraged.
What’s going on here? Are we trying to live in a Die Hard spoof? Someone was going to get shot in the toe or the bum or somewhere stupid. He wouldn’t have the good grace to shoot himself. There would have been justice in that. But it’s not like that, is it? It was going to be the maid who gets shot, or my sweet love, or the gardener. It wasn’t going to be me. Of that I was very sure. Perhaps he would have had a couple of drinks and decided to use the monkeys as target practice; or worse, the golfers. It was going to be bad. I had a premonition as soon as he walked through the door. I saw disaster. It was going to be embarrassing to explain to the security and to the police and to anyone with half a molecule of good sense how we could have allowed it to happen.
“You are rude ……. blah blah!”, My Love growled at me. Me rude? Who brings a gun to someone’s house? That’s rude. That’s beyond rude, it’s downright insulting. What did he bring it for? For play time? Am I the only one around here with any sense? It’s not a toy it’s a lethal weapon and what in God’s name was it here for? We are arguing about this? Really?