I recently went to the Capital City Gun Show with my fiancé and very flamboyant male best friend.

Now I’ve been to some pretty strange places. But nothing could prepare me for this.

Antique firearms, shotguns, rifles, muskets, bayonets, machine guns, swords fit for a king and knives that would make Crocodile Dundee weep.

We were there for the next three hours.

While I didn’t buy a gun, I did realize a few things:

Women like guns. They ran the booths. (One even sold her homemade brownies right along side the semi-automatics.) They shopped for weapons. They brought their kids.

Guns are pretty. Seeing so many up close and personal, I looked past the “deadly-weapon” thing and saw rich woods polished like satin, detailed engraving and pearl handles. I saw the blinding sheen of pure silver and a pitch so dark it was beyond black.

Some guns are even adorable. Like the teeny-tiny Derringer, 2-6” of firepower that fits nicely in a woman’s purse or stocking.

Guns bring people together. Gay or straight. Rich or poor. Black or white. Guns can be a subject of conversation for hours.  How your father collected them and his stash will be yours one day.
How you first shot one in the woods in high school. If only people could get together and talk about guns rather than shoot them…

Guns are for kids. At least according to the Davey Crickett Rifle Company, whose “My First Rifle” is a single-shot, bolt action .22 perfectly sized for prepubescent children. Thankfully, the package warns, ”This is not a toy.”

Guns are easy to get. The permit application is shorter than the employment application at a fast food restaurant. Sheriffs at the gun show approve of your moral character on the spot. A quick background check, and that 1962 German Police Issue Luger 9 MM is all yours.

(I know this because that’s what my friend bought.) 

Guns are political. (Okay, I knew that already.) My favorite suggestion for addressing the whole guns-kill-people problem is from the brilliant Chris Rock.