I had a long pout with myself yesterday over my inability to afford a new shotgun. Not just any shotgun, but a new Benelli SuperSport clays model. Without a doubt, one of the best in the world for sporting clays. Sounds trivial...and it was...but I really, really, REALLY want it. When I felt it's beautiful balance for the first time, I found myself instantly wishing I was 5 years old again so that I could throw a huge tantrum about not being able to get it. You know the kind; on your knees bawling and sobbing, shrieking about parents who never buy you anything, making promises you can never keep if only you could have this one thing! This tends to look rather silly as an adult, but does occasionally work on spouses if laced with sufficient guilt, but not this time (I've already tried). Tantrums aside, there are few good outlets to vent frustration over the "can't haves" in life. This gun is like the ring in the "Lord of the Rings" for me...I'm powerless under it's spell. Mere mortals simply faint with exquisite agony at the sight of one. It's my precious, but we will be forever separated by those nasty green hobbitses...fifteen hundred of them to be roughly accurate. Filthy green hobbitses..Capt. HATES hobbitses!
I better get up off my knees. Nobody is hearing my pleading back here in my office anyway, but look for a "Donations" button to appear here shortly as my last hope.
2 comments:
I have an idea! Why don't you climb on Santa's lap and ask him to get it for you for Christmas?
What can he say?
"You'll shoot your eye out, kid!"
Partial blindness is a small price to pay for such pleasure. He'd have to do better than that.
I've suffered much more for considerably less.
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