Not so Butch at Butches on Aurora

Hi
It is me, Mama Sal, SA, Sally Anne again.
You know how things come in threes? Or maybe they really don't and people might just only be able to count to three or not notices anything until three things happen. jeeze, now I am getting worried that there is something to this and I should be expecting some major or minor orthopedic event to happen soon.

ANYWAY....I digress. So, the three electrical appliances fiascos of twothousandfive, or the last month...My Cuisinart, my sewing machine and my hard drive on Maurice, my mac. Yukky.

BUT..........That is not why I am writing you all today. I am writing to illustrate the difference between the regulations to own and operate two different deadly tools. I am sure you may already know all this, but I just experienced first hand how profoundly easy it is to have a gun in this city, in this state.

To drive a Car the user has to:
* be 16
* get your parents consent
* go through training
* Pass an eye exam
* Practice with a licensed driver for months
* Is re-tested periodically
* Given random performance reviews, commonly called traffic tickets and traffic school if needed

Now, to own a gun in WA state, you need to:
* have a pulse

I have insomnia which I have decided to embrace. Instead of struggling with sleep at one, two or three in the morning, I do things. Last night, for instance, I made a teapot and fired a glaze kiln and put up JC Penny Drapes from Value Village to divide the pottery studio from the rest of the garage.

While I was at my Mum's in California, (I don't call her that. I am typing on a British style keyboard. I call her Nancy, Ma, Mama or ya old bat.)

So, it was one in the morning before I was to drive to Seattle at 5 in the morning. I decided I wanted to pull out Dad's gun cabinet that is locked (however the glass door is busted)and facing the wall. I wanted to make sure there was no ammunition in any of old rifles and see what .22's were available to pilfer. I was surprised how 2005 has been the Year of My Dad. First the fishing and now the huntin'. I brought the .22 pump rifle home with a zippy case to hold it in. It all needs cleaning and rehabilitation.

I called J-J while on the road and told her the story of the new requisition. Before I finished the story, she said, "I guess we are goin' target shootin' " Yup. She also said something about my exposing ever-new facets of my personalities.
Sylvia said something similar. But more blunt. "I don't know you." She latter pointed out, after making it quite clear that she did not approve, "Ya know, you tend toward being a bit accident prone."

Yesterday I got a lovely wool cowboy hat.

Day before yesterday I asked Syl to guess where I went. She guessed Butches Gun shot on Aurora. The home of gun, pawn and other odd shops, and women who swing their purses for a living. Sylvia was right. I walked in and ask Butch, probably not his name) what requirements there were for me to license my rifle. He looked puzzled. I then asked what the requirements were for owning a handgun. None. Unless you wanted to have it concealed. So I could buy my little friend Margot a semi-automatic weapon. She is four.