The Husband Who Cried Wifely Request

No, this is not Sheryl's. It's my own M44, much shorter, but the same basic thing. We don't have pictures of hers yet.

Sheryl turned IL today. That could also be written XXXXIX. She doesn't read Roman numerals, so I should be safe here. Anyway, it was her birthday. A few weeks ago she made it very plain that she wanted a firearm for either Christmas or her birthday. Yes, I know what you're thinking. We're far too broke to buy such extravagant toys. And normally you'd be right. But sometimes stores like Big 5 (spelled V Magnum in Latin, I believe) and CAL (generally not spelled at all in Latin) will have special deals, ridiculously special deals, on certain historic military firerams in order to get people into the store. And we are certainly people!

She was very specific as to which historic firearm she wanted. CAL was selling model 1891/30 Mosin-Nagant battle rifles for a wonderful price which made it almost affordable. I spent the last couple of weeks mentioning to her things like report and recoil. Still she insisted that this was what she wanted. She knows perfectly well that her husband is able to make "reduced loads" which will render both its bark and its bite much more tolerable.

Long story short, I bought it for her yesterday. "But," I hear you ask, "How did you do that when you're so broke all the time?" Well you see, there are these credit cards which come to our house a few times per month, offering us the opportunity to become indebted to people with whom we have not even been properly introduced. Our habitual behavor heretofore has been to tear or cut them up carefully and put them in the trash. But this time we said to ourselves, "Selves! You know we've been pretty good for a long time?" "Yes, we have," we were forced to agree. "And Christmas is coming soon, did you know that?" Again, the truth of this argument could not be denied. "Perhaps we could use this card to get a few things for Christmas." This idea siezed control of our erstwhile rational thought process, and soon we were buying groceries and Russian battle rifles with the darn thing as though we were real people; almost as if we had a right to some happiness. It's truly frightening how seductive a tiny piece of plastic can be.

And so, after a few more purchases, we'll be even further in debt than we already were and we'll be wondering how it happened. That's why I'm writing this record. I'll be able to look back and see precisely when and where we went so wrong when it felt so right.

Another thing to remember! Sheryl asked for this. I did not hint at it in the slightest degree. I know there are those of you out there who believe that the chances of a XXXXVIII year old wife actually expressing a desire to have something like this are somewhere between slim and none, and Slim just left town. But it's all true. Some day, at the bar of judgment, during the great video tape in the sky, when our unrepented sins are being shouted from the roof tops (I really dread that part.) you will see that I told this story exactly as it happened. Then you'll say, "Imagine! Jim got to buy a firearm for his eternal companion and didn't even have to persuade her to want it! If I hadn't seen it with my own glorified, perfected, resurrected eyes, I'd have never believed it." Then I'll smile rather smugly just before having the smile wiped from my face by a public recitation of all the terrible things I did in this life but forgot to repent of. And yes, I know I ended that last sentence with a preposition, but I'm just too tired to care.