The Bhagavad Gita tells us, “… the good deeds a man has done defend him…”
It fails to answer, “Defend him from what?”
The female of the species currently tolerating my presence had a change of plans due to weather and texted right after midnight to have me undo the deadbolt. It was windy, cold, and late, so I figured I’d move my truck so she could use the garage. Put myself back together and went outside.
There are parking spots around the neighborhood for overflow and to keep the homeowners association from filing lawsuits. There’s this ornamental rail thing like a hitching post that runs along in front of them. I park and sit in the truck to keep the wind off me, awaiting the imminent arrival of my beloved.
Her car rounds the corner and motors up the driveway. I get out and lock the truck. She had spotted me and waved as she gathered her bags. Did I mention I was carrying a large Yeti cup full of hot coffee?
So’s me and the Yeti cup have a decision to make. Try to get over the rail, around the rail, or under. Over obviously not a good option, around would be best. Under we go.
Now here is where a good quality holster and belt are so important. I’m carrying my blued Colt Competition 45ACP in a ALS holster on a leather 511 belt under a warm quilted jacket. Just then I realized I have just enough room to get under the rail. The Colt begged to differ. The belt and holster were also completely unsympathetic. My rostrolateral prefrontal cortex sent a burst transmission warning of an incoming teachable moment.
I felt the pressure and realized straight away I required more clearance, and quickly. Mercifully the Yeti was in the weak hand allowing me to catch the rail as I tried to get smaller. Some quick vector geometry revealed the point of impact of my face was about halfway up the next post. Sometimes, you gotta let go.
I spin to the right, hoping to exchange a crushed face for a bruised ass, successfully I’m happy to report. So just as I skid to a stop and begin to congratulate myself on not being hurt and not scratching my pistol I get hit over the head and shoulders by a now supercooled atmospheric river of coffee.
With what dignity I had left (none) with Yeti in hand (also unscratched), I stand up. I walked up to the house accompanied by the lady’s dulce voce as she laughed her ass off.
I tell ya… No good deed…
It fails to answer, “Defend him from what?”
The female of the species currently tolerating my presence had a change of plans due to weather and texted right after midnight to have me undo the deadbolt. It was windy, cold, and late, so I figured I’d move my truck so she could use the garage. Put myself back together and went outside.
There are parking spots around the neighborhood for overflow and to keep the homeowners association from filing lawsuits. There’s this ornamental rail thing like a hitching post that runs along in front of them. I park and sit in the truck to keep the wind off me, awaiting the imminent arrival of my beloved.
Her car rounds the corner and motors up the driveway. I get out and lock the truck. She had spotted me and waved as she gathered her bags. Did I mention I was carrying a large Yeti cup full of hot coffee?
So’s me and the Yeti cup have a decision to make. Try to get over the rail, around the rail, or under. Over obviously not a good option, around would be best. Under we go.
Now here is where a good quality holster and belt are so important. I’m carrying my blued Colt Competition 45ACP in a ALS holster on a leather 511 belt under a warm quilted jacket. Just then I realized I have just enough room to get under the rail. The Colt begged to differ. The belt and holster were also completely unsympathetic. My rostrolateral prefrontal cortex sent a burst transmission warning of an incoming teachable moment.
I felt the pressure and realized straight away I required more clearance, and quickly. Mercifully the Yeti was in the weak hand allowing me to catch the rail as I tried to get smaller. Some quick vector geometry revealed the point of impact of my face was about halfway up the next post. Sometimes, you gotta let go.
I spin to the right, hoping to exchange a crushed face for a bruised ass, successfully I’m happy to report. So just as I skid to a stop and begin to congratulate myself on not being hurt and not scratching my pistol I get hit over the head and shoulders by a now supercooled atmospheric river of coffee.
With what dignity I had left (none) with Yeti in hand (also unscratched), I stand up. I walked up to the house accompanied by the lady’s dulce voce as she laughed her ass off.
I tell ya… No good deed…
