The Best Brenna This is my life, so I guess I'll talk about it.

Hey look! A real post! Not a repost, or a poorly shopped picture! Just words, talking about word stuff!

So today I had the pleasure of going Christmas shopping with my father, the highlight occurring over lunch in an Italian restaurant. We had already moved tables once, and were currently seated at a booth by the window. Things were going relatively well, conversation was sort of happening, and my father had only been a little bit rude to the waitress. I was feeling optimistic about the experience continuing to go smoothly. Then the clouds parted, and the sun made my dad get too hot. Upset by the change of temperature, my father suggested we change booths. Again. I suggested that instead of re-moving, he take off his leather jacket.

It’s at this point in the story that I feel it’s necessary to back-track a little.

Earlier in the day my father had expressed concern at the thought of me driving long distances alone, and suggested that I’d be much safer with a gun in the car. He then proceeded to pull out his own gun from it’s usual place, as if hoping that I’d agree with him upon sight of the firearm. I didn’t. That’s when my good old dad decided to take out the big guns. Literally. While he was driving a vehicle he managed to pull out not one, but two more guns from various places (his jacket, and under the seat).

“Oh, more guns! Hahaha, we sure do have a lot of guns!” Laughter is my way of coping with people who think it’s cool to put three guns in my lap.

Anyway, back to the original time line: My father and I are eating lunch at a restaurant, and he is insisting that we change tables for the second time, rather than take off his jacket. Now I want you to remember the part of the story where I talk about my father taking guns out of various places. Specifically his jacket. The same jacket that he suspiciously won’t take off. Super sneaky daddy, super sneaky.

“Jesus Christ dad, why the hell would you bring a loaded gun into an Italian restaurant?!” I frantically, yet quietly stated. I don’t know why the ethnicity of the restaurant mattered, but I was in a panicked moment of life, so I therefore excuse myself.

A hasty, yet hushed argument about the logistics of needing to use the gun in the restaurant, ever, ensued… and that’s how I found out that I’m getting a gun for Christmas! Excellent choice father. By the way, I got you socks! Merry Christmas.

                     By the way,

                     I lied about this post not being a shittily edited photo…

                     I’m not sorry.