Last night the guys from my husband’s office were meeting for a little rendezvous at a local spot and they invited me along. My husband assured me there would be other people of the female persuasion in attendance, but as per the usual, that turned out not to be the case. In fact other than the waitress I was the only gal in the entire place most of the night.
I have met these men my husband works with, but other than a brief conversation at the gun show or the polite chit chat that is required at the company Christmas party, I haven’t socialized with them. I am the closest with Arete, of course, but even he and I have not really spent much time together outside of training, so it was fun to hang with them.
Here was the group make up…my hubby, me, Arete, and 2 other guys, let’s call them Esquire and Tiger. There are an eclectic group. One is a very casual shorts, muscle shirt, covered in tats dude, one is a t-shirt, shorts, tennis shoe guy and one is a youngster, under 25 that looks like he is right off the cover of Esquire, thus the name. He wore a bright yellow shirt and tie. I think he came straight from the office, but the point is, he was pretty spiffy looking. Then there was me and the hubs. All very different from each other, but even so, every single one of them is a gun person. Some shoot more than others, but all Second Amendment people. I even noticed Esquire had a knife and I think a flashlight in his right front pocket. I thought, “Nice guys.” “They like guns and knives, all have jobs, even though I am the only woman in attendance, how bad can this be?”
Hold that thought.
Everything was going along swimmingly until I inadvertently made a comment about Tiger and something like, Hey, roll tide boy. Tiger is from Alabama, so that seemed logical. Logical yes, smart, no. He is from Alabama, but and this a big but, he attended Auburn University. If you know anything at all about college football then you see my problem. That. Was. Not. A. Good. Thing. To. Say.
It was so bad that not a single person at the table had my back. Not Arete and not my husband. I had hung myself and I was going to have to untie the noose all by my lonesome. I apologized profusely, I begged, I cried, I pleaded, to no avail. I was desperate and in the fight of my life. I composed myself, did some tactical breathing. I remembered that I had trained for this very moment. The words of Sir Winston Churchill echoed in my mind…
Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.
Eventually I did prevail and victory was indeed mine. Drinks were spilled, chairs were knocked over. It was a long battle. So long that it’s little vague in my mind as to exactly how I accomplished victory, but I am pretty sure at some point I offered to purchase one of these.
Once back in the good graces of Tiger and the rest of the crew, things went fairly smooth the remainder of the evening. We talked about Tim Tebow, murder, politics, politicians, broke ribs, Belgium, guns, plumbers, gun laws, and I listened to the boys talk a lot of shop. All and all not a bad way to spend a Wednesday evening.