All the Pretties!

“Oh, look at all the pretties!”

“Can you please stop talking about assault rifles the same way you talk about shoes!”

“What …? I can’t have multiple passions?”

“Yes, yes of course, you can, it’s just … I dunno … weird when you say the same things, in that same cooing tone, to both ridiculously cute high-heeled adornments for your fabulous legs and … those darned killing machines.”

“They’re not killing machines. The people who use them are.”

“Quite! And yet you expect me to be comfortable with your love for them?”

They’d been here before – oh so many many times – Craig realising he’d insisted he was OK knowing what Donna did to earn a living. He was, in theory, but that was before he’d seen her caress and speak lovingly to AK47s. Truth be told, he’d no idea what the current ‘pretties’ Donna was admiring actually were … for he didn’t do guns. He didn’t like guns. In fact, he was quite the pacifist at heart.

She’d sighed and walked away from him, still looking at the display case filled with rifles, while nibbling the skin around her index fingernail. He recognised the unconscious action from previous visits to her parents, knowing she did this when upset but trying not react. Understandably so, he really shouldn’t have said he’d be OK without giving it serious thought. Except he’d been crazy about her … and still was.

Crossing the room, Craig put his arms around her. Feeling the tension in her body, he held her close while rubbing her lower back with his right hand. Slowly the tension subsided, and he was able to kiss her cheek.

They wandered round the rest of the museum arm-in-arm. Finally, in front of that display cabinet again, he asked which one was her favourite. Squeezing him tight, she rested her head on his shoulder as she described each one, telling him what type of occasion made that particular item her chosen weapon. At the end, he asked her if there were any she’d not used before. She took her time, before pointing out one pistol in the neighbouring display case and a rather ancient looking flintlock in the rifle case.

“Uh, right-o …”

Feeling the tension return, Craig was quick to change the subject …

“Is it time for coffee and a cake?”

The question earned him a big sloppy kiss.


© Debra Carey, 2019

 

 

 

 

 

Author: debscarey

Tweets @debsdespatches My primary blog is Debs Despatches, where I ramble on a variety of topics personal to me, including #ISWG reflections; I write fiction on co-hosted site Fiction Can Be Fun and my Life Coaching business is Caring Coaching. My previous general blog was Bunny and the Bloke- now in mothballs.

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