In the abstract I don’t begrudge anyone the right to defend themselves. But the experience in that adrenaline-filled moment is so alien and disorienting that it’s a bit hard to take very seriously the cool-headed explication of an aspiring gun owner’s anti-crime calculus. Of the fortunately few times when I’ve felt my life was in danger, the truth uniting the experiences has been that they’ve been nothing like I imagined. Plans would have been hilariously irrelevant.
Besides, to carry a gun for protection from crime means you’ll need to have that device on or near you a lot of the time. You, the girl who spills tampons all over her shoes whenever she roots through her purse. You, the guy who can’t stop dropping his cellphone in the toilet. I know you. You tivo Grey’s Anatomy, for God’s sake. I’m somehow supposed to be happy that your latest personal effect can kill me?
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