A Time to Keep Silent and A Time to Speak

Most of y'all may know that my husband is an NRA certified concealed carry instructor. I just recently finished the training to get my own concealed carry permit, and when my husband gave me my certificate, he started to tell me where I needed to take it in order to apply for my permit. Then he said to just wait and he'd go with me in the next day or two.

In two other states that we've lived I've had a concealed carry permit, so I wasn't sure why I might need help here, but I didn't mind waiting. And then my husband gifted me with a Ruger .22 pistol that he bought. It's a great little gun and something I would be comfortable carrying in my purse. I was tickled pink, and since he bought it in February, I kind of considered it my Valentine's Day present. Yeah, we're romantic like that.

Here in Michigan you have to register your guns (we can get into gun rights in another blog post, k?) so in addition to going to the courthouse downtown to get my concealed carry permit, we also had to go to the county sheriff's office to register my pistol. Fortunately those two places are right next door to each other. At the sheriff's office, the clerk checked our forms and then asked a few questions. Each time my husband spoke up before I could give the answer. Since I didn't have my concealed carry permit number yet for the forms, the clerk suggested running a quick background check on me to satisfy the requirements. Once again my husband spoke up and gave permission before I could speak. I would have agreed anyway, but I was getting a little irritated at not being able to speak for myself.

I filled out the background check form and she ran it right there. The room was quiet as she scrolled
through the computer. Without looking away from the screen, she said, "Well everything looks pretty good. I see you've only killed one person."

Her comment caught everyone by surprise, including the two officers sitting at desks behind her. Finally able to speak for myself, I answered, "Well good because, believe me, I've been tempted a lot more than once." One of the cops grinned at my husband and said, "I guess it's a good thing you're still here."

When my gun was registered (and I hadn't been arrested for murder) we headed next door to the courthouse. We passed through the metal detector without a problem, but then were told they don't allow cellphones in the building. I handed my phone to my husband and told him to give me the papers and I'd wait for him while he ran our phones back to the truck. The security guard directed me around the corner to the department I needed, and as I walked in that direction I heard my husband ask the guard if he thought I could handle this myself.

Seriously? Since when did I become an idiot?! I headed on to Vital Records and asked for a concealed carry application. As I filled in the answers, my annoyance grew. The questions were things like, was I mentally impaired, was I a felon, was I a citizen, etc. Why did I need help filling this out? By the time my husband arrived, all out of breath from hurrying, I had finished applying, and was handing my debit card over to pay the fee. All done. All by myself.

We had to head back to the sheriff's office for me to be fingerprinted as the final step in my application. Who knew in the ten minutes between visits that I would once again be tempted to kill someone?