I STILL REMEMBER the first time I saw a weapon in my house.
It was about three years ago, and my wife and I were in the midst of one of some silly argument. I can’t remember what it was about. All I know is, LaVeta, was upset, and I made a terrible mistake. I followed her into a room she knows much better than I do – the kitchen.
I said something to press my point, and that’s when it happened. LaVeta reached into the dish rack, pulled out a cheese grater and pointed it toward me.
At least I thought it was a cheese grater. Apparently it was a microplane zester, and though she later told me she would not have actually used it, I imagined her grating me into a pile of brown confetti. Hell hath no fury like a woman with a microplane zester.
I was reminded of that story the other day, when an old friend ran into LaVeta and our daughter, Eve, who’s 12 and becoming a beautiful young lady.
“You better get your shotgun ready,” he said.
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