I broke into the gun cabinet the other evening. Now before anyone starts panicking about the welfare of my chatty upstairs neighbor, whom I wrote about wanting to terrify for keeping me awake in Robots, Fairies and Cold Blooded Murder, I should state that the break-in wasn’t for intimidation purposes. Although my threat still stands;
No, instead of going out for blood, I was out for cookies. That sounds strange if you don’t know that Tex keeps all of the tasty foods in the house locked with the boomsticks. It’s because I can’t be trusted; if left alone with a family size package of Oreos, there wouldn’t be any survivors and I’d probably have diabetes. Hence why all the delicious things are stored in the place I can’t get into. At least until the other night.
For those of you who don’t sleep next to firearms that are under lock and key, let me explain what a gun cabinet is. It’s exactly like your grandmother’s locked china cabinet; it’s mystical in that its purpose is unclear and you get in a lot of trouble for opening it without asking. Only instead of Royal Doulton figurines there are high powered rifles, and the there are no boxes of silver spoons, just crates of ammunition. Also you likely don’t need ear plugs and safety glasses if you want to take any of the fine bone china out to play. Not that the good china is what Grandma would want you practicing spinning plates with.
Tex was out skeet shooting with a friend and had taken only his apartment key with him, leaving his key ring unattended. I was home alone, all was well until it was nine pm, and I needed a hit of Mr. Christie more than anything. I stared down the locked gun cabinet. I knew better to try and shake the metal crate as though it was a stingy pop machine that refused to relinquish the goods because just like with Grandma’s china cabinet- if you shake or tip it, things could start exploding into pieces.
That was when I spotted Tex’s keys. The night went downhill from there. To start with there were no cookies. Only shot gun shells and spare hearing protection. Disappointed and feeling somewhat like I had opened Pandora’s Box, I went to lock the cabinet and it wouldn’t close.
“Oh no!”I thought “Now the guns can escape!” Firearms are wickedly dangerous. After firing a gun for the first time, rather than being reassured of their safety, I was more scared. So I closed the door as much as I could and replaced the hamper that stands in front of it. The keys dangled from the still open lock. “The guns are stuck in there” I reassured myself, “they can’t get out”. But just to be sure, I left the bedroom and closed the door behind me, vowing not to return until Tex came back and locked the dangerous boomsticks up again.
A while later Tex arrived home and started to get ready for bed. I stayed in the other room, just in case the unlocked guns tried to make a run for it. “UNwashed” Tex said my name in an outraged way, putting the emphasis on the first syllable. I knew I was in trouble.
Hearing the jiggle of keys, I knew it was safe to enter the bedroom to explain, “I thought I could unlock and relock it.”
Tex glowered at me “That wasn’t an apology. That’s like someone standing in front of a judge saying “Your honor, I didn’t think I was going to get caught.”
“I’m sorry” I cried full of repentance “As soon as I saw there were no cookies, I knew I had made a terrible mistake.”
This is why there is now a sealed combination lock box to get to the gun cabinet key, that unlocks the gun cabinet which holds the firearms and the yummy treats, because I was only sorry after realizing that there weren’t any tasty snacks. Tex reminded me later that even IF the guns did get out although they aren’t liked caged, angry hippos with minds of their own; there is a combination lock on each trigger.
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