On Saturday I took Ava shooting for her belated Christmas present. She'd never shot a gun before so was a wee bit nervous (read: shaking). That lasted for about oh, 3 bullets. Then she was jumping up and down like a kid cracked out on cake. It was then that she decided that we should befriend the marines with assault rifles next to us.
Yep. The main one of which was clad in Ed Hardy, chewing tobacco and named Flod. Internet, you can not make this shit up.
Flod jumped at the chance to let two blonde girls with cameras shoot his crazy large and crazy expensive guns. And shoot we did. Dudes, if you get a chance to A) meet someone named Flod and B) shoot an assault rifle DO IT. It makes you feel like Rambo. I was seriously about a minute away from attempting to kick down doors and/or headbutting someone. Then I remembered that I bruise when someone looks at me too hard and so I put the gun down and went out for mimosas. However, that happened after I had this conversation:
Me: (shooting gun, bullet casing flies off and hits me in the cheek,leaving a streak)
Ava: Oh no! Here! Let me help. (she then spits on her finger and before I can stop her, wipes off the residue.
Me: Did you just mom spit bullet residue off my face?
Ava: I did. I also think that's probably the first time that sentence has ever been spoken.
Me: It's official, we're too close.
And then I cut my finger and left blood on the gun. BECAUSE I'M A BADASS. Or clumsy, whichever.