Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Washed in the Blood
The minute I realized Starr Ann had done a jeans load of laundry in hot water, I knew she was going to make us go to the gun show. According to Starr Ann, there's the cold-water jeans tightness that's just right for doing chores and being around normal people. Then there's the hot-water jeans tightness that helps you fit in amongst rednecks.
At least I'm familiar enough with Starr Ann's ways that I accepted our fate right away. Poor Jodie still entertains these nebulous notions that one of these days she'll actually change Starr Ann's mind once it's made up. Heh. Wasted effort.
Jodie made a good run at it, though, I had to admit. She said, "Now Starr Ann, darlin', wouldn't you much rather spend Friday night cozied up on my couch with a fire going in the fireplace, a pot of spicy veggie stew on the stove, and hot bread baking in the oven? I could make all that happen, you know."
Starr Ann entertained those images for a second, all wide-eyed and everything, before saying, "It's kind of like the way you insist we all read the National Review, American Conservative and Weekly Standard, Jodie. Know the enemy. Study them where they live, and all that, remember? Knowledge is power. It's important to understand what makes these people tick. And tock."
"But sweetheart, that convention center holds something like 20,000 people. That's gonna be at least 19,998 pairs of smoker lungs exhaling in a closed environment. And if just one third of those lungs belong to women, we'll have the bonus of being enclosed with around 6,000 smokers who've doused themselves in perfume in hopes of covering the nicotine smell, and you know we don't want to expose ourselves to that special hell, right baby?"
Starr Ann took a determined breath. "A bunch of the attendees will be kids who are just pre-smokers, so you need to adjust your numbers down a little for that."
Well, that led to a big long explanation about how hunting is marketed as a family sport and it's legal for real little kids to hunt, which flabbergasted Jodie. We had to fire up the Internet to prove to her we weren't kidding about that part.
So, we covered up the Obama sticker on our truck with a sticker that said Gun Control Means Using Both Hands and arrived at the South Wing of the Kentucky Exposition Center just in time to hear a passionate presentation titled "The Evils of Terrorist Extremists" delivered by a fairly good-sized man wearing a T-shirt with There's Nothing That Can't Be Solved With The Use Of High Explosives written on the front and back.
Jodie looked like she was ready to bolt right then and there, so I whispered to her, "Remember now, they're not gonna hurt us. The hot-water jeans, not to mention the way Starr Ann had us do our hair, always triggers a one-of-them response, so we're just fine." Jodie reached up and touched her hair, then looked at mine again like she could barely take her eyes off it.
Right then, Starr Ann saw the look on Jodie's face and as the man was wrapping up his presentation, Starr Ann promised Jodie real quiet, "Stick with this for at least an hour, and we won't force ourselves to go to even one professional wrestling match or truck pull all summer, okay?"
Well, that gave Jodie and me both something to work toward! We tried hard to make the rest of the night go smooth. And we almost succeeded. Of course, there were a couple of rough moments.
At one point, these three bubbas who were all juiced up on tobacco juice got to following us around and started saying things kinda loud about us being three girls there alone. Unless you know Jodie, you have no idea what it took for her to keep herself from unloading both barrels (sorry, but I've just been to a gun show, okay?) on them over the supreme stupidity of the phrase "three women alone."
Starr Ann really does her homework, though. She got rid of those guys real fast by saying, "Oh, you all look like you know your way around. Can you tell us where three girls could buy fake hero medals and stuff for their men?"
Those ol' boys looked awful satisfied about taking charge. One said, "That'd be whatcha call yer militaria, clear over there at the militaria booths."
Starr Ann said thanks and we took off in the direction he pointed.
Only other close call was a little something that almost sparked up over by the knife exhibits, but that time it was the music that came to our rescue. It happened right at the second when things could have turned ugly over the fact that I said just a tiny bit too loud to Jodie, "If morons are outlawed, only outlaws will have morons." I was getting punchy from being at a gun show, okay?
Anyway, some of their faces quit smiling and it looked for a second like we were about to be in trouble when the music, which had been playing too loud all night, hit a refrain that made most of the place stop and pay attention with these real fervent looks on their faces. It went:
I wanna know if he's washed in the Blood
Or just in the water,
Before I give him
My only daughter.
Dang, and us lesbians complain about having a unique dating scene!
As we were leaving the expo, Jodie confided that she wasn't a hundred percent comfortable with her reaction to that Martina McBride song about the daughter and mother who burn down their house with the abusive husband/father still inside. I said I find myself kinda pumped up over the rush of revenge when I hear that song, too.
We both looked at Starr Ann, expecting her to admit she gets just a little fired up over that one, but all the evil thing said was, "You have faced your inner redneck. My work is done."
I hate it when she gets all fake superior like that.
Anyway, remember the sacred mantra of gun enthusiasts: Safety First.