Ok... I'm only going to tell this story once. because it's embarrassing.
Ladybug and I moved to Ky where she is from in 1995.. only made it 6mos, no jobs to be had.
Living with her parents, awesome peeps, her Dad would sneak cigs, I'd get high after dinner we'd
both go burn trash... epic. RIP Ron.
He warned us if we go hiking on the 10acres to bring the .22. what he failed to say was it was a gun from the 1800's that was previously owned by Grandpa Dalton, yup, as in the Dalton Gang... see, her family
name is James. As in Jesse James. her granny is a Dalton, she married a James...
I was strapping the gun on as it sits in a holster. after I strap it on I do the western pose and rest my hand atop of the gun. BAM. wth was that. I look down, a single pump of blood comes out of my boot top thru a tiny hole... and smoke. ah oh. the gun was so old and loose, the hammer would rest a few MM away from the firing pin. when my hand hit the hammer, the gun fired. Hole in foot. Ladybug is like, what was that noise. I tell her and she almost vomits. I say, relax, go start the car ok... hear me. uh huh... 10min goes by she comes back in, what's taking so long. I'm changing out of this damn camo outfit. hahaha. drove to the hospital 30min away to get it fixed up....
Christmas that year, I get: Barney Fife T-shirt, bumper sticker, rubber band gun, vest with upper left pocket to store the very bullet it that was stuck in the bottom of my boot.... and my father in law rushing into the ER asking me if I got the Rabbit that ran under my foot.
God I love that man and miss him so much... he became my Dad when mine disowned me over $100... he cried, put his arm around me and said, I'll be your Dad... RIP Ron..
I now have a hover toe that tells me when it's going to rain.. still have shrapnel in my foot... but toe is still there... thank god it was a .22 and not the .357 I wanted.... doh.
So stop with the Fife jokes already.... pweeze