“Well at least ask her.”
“You’ll have to ask her yourself.”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
C.W. rubbed the side of his head. “What do you think
happened?”
“I could have warned you,” I said, “if you had only checked
with me first. And why did you decide to look like Matthew McConaughey today?”
“I thought it might help,” he said. “You know how much Mrs.
Big Dope adores Matth …”
“I get the picture,” I said. “But she still said no?”
“That’s why I need your help.”
“Why do you think I could talk her into it?”
“You talked her into going to Gatlinburg, Tennessee once.
She told me all about it. A man that could do that could talk someone into
about anything.”
“That’s why my credibility with her is still near zero.”
“I know she could help me, though, if she only would.”
Against my better judgment, I entered his dream. “What
exactly is it you want her to do?”
“Sew.”
“Sew what?”
“Gun belts and holsters.”
“And why?”
“Are you kidding? They’ll sell like Confederate flags in
this state. Everyone will want one.”
“I won’t. My wife won’t. My mother-in-law won’t. None of my
friends will.”
“That only takes a half dozen people in the state out of the
market.”
“Besides,” I said, “you remember her response when you asked
her to help with your last venture, sewing those very flags?”
He rubbed the other side of his head. “This is different.”
“How?”
“Didn’t you read what your Attorney Applicable to the Whole said?”
“Our Attorney General isn’t known for her legal perspicacity.”
“She said people in your state are free to carry guns around on their hips as long as they don’t intend to harm anyone.”
“And,” I said, “exactly why would you carry a weapon on your
hip if you didn’t intend to harm someone?”
“That’s the beauty of it,” he said. “Besides, I intend to
specialize.”
“Specialize?”
“Yep, mine will be designed only for going to Walmart,” he
said.
 |
| All you need is love. - C.W. |
“For going to Walmart?
“Yep, the belt will have a big red heart sewn into it just
above where one’s butt-crack shows.”
I couldn’t speak.
“And,” he continued, “you can get them in custom colors to
match your best tattoo.”
This time I did manage a groan.
“And the shoulder model will be designed around the gap in a
sleeveless tank top and will be sweat-resistant. No more cold steel against bare skin."
“I need,” I said, “to go do some things.”
“Wait,” he said. “You haven’t heard the name of the product.”
“No,” I said, “nor do I want to.”
“I call it a “Get Out of My Way.”
I stopped in mid-stride and turned to look at him. “You are
going to produce a holster and belt for carrying a pistol to Walmart and call
it a “Get Out of My Way?”
He suddenly looked pleased. “I knew you would like it. Yep,” he said. “A Get Out of My Way, for when ‘Excuse me’ just sounds too timid.”
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