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Tris is a BadAss

A conversation between me and rock star coworker, Justin.

(Note: I am a girly-girl in every sense of the word. I LOVE shoes, purses, clothes…you get the idea. While I also am an adrenaline junky and enjoy physical activity and outdoor things, this is still a pretty funny story for anyone who knows me and sees me on a daily basis—in my fancy shoes, especially the glittery ones)

SETTING: Justin is in his cubie, working like a madman on his two computer screens, mounds of paper work and other coworkers (such as myself) interrupting his flow of rock star-ness.

ME: Hey Justin. Lean against his cubie wall, ignoring the fact that he’s busy.

JUSTIN: Hey. Glances my way, continues to type.

ME: How’s it goin’? I am here to be entertained, darn it.


ME: Huh. Hey, wanna hear something cool?


ME: Lunch date with Lemons next week, 12:30, that European pizza place downtown.

JUSTIN: Courtesy laugh as he continues to work. Great multitasker, that Justin is.

ME: Wanna see something cool? I’ve been waiting ALL day to share this with someone. Justin is the PERFECT candidate.

JUSTIN: Finally ignores his work to give me the 100% of his attention I deserve. Of course!

ME: I hold out my left hand palm up, and show him the injury I obtained over the weekend (Okay, so I was going to take a picture to show you all how dang impressive it was, but it wasn’t gory enough. I wanted it to turn yellow and purple with bruising, but I did such a good job taking care of it when it happened, nothing ever came to fruition, thus, I will describe it to you. It looks like a small bite mark, a really small bite mark–like Fae from the Dark Court small–and it’s bloody, and slightly bruised and swollen and impressive. Oh, so impressive. It’s in the meaty part of my hand where my pointer finger meets my palm.)

JUSTIN: Brows arch in a somewhat impressed fashion. Ouch. Looks like it hurt.

ME: Nods. Yup. It did. But only a little. Wanna know how I got it?

JUSTIN: Of course! Typical excited Justin response. It’s great.

ME: Shrugs shoulders, tries to act nonchalant and “everyday-ish” about this. Cleaning my gun.

JUSTIN: Pregnant pause. Silence. Erupts in laughter.

ME: I know! It’s so cool isn’t it?

JUSTIN: Still laughing. How’d you get it?

ME: Pulls out the lingo and info Hubby spouted me when I insisted he teach me how to properly and responsibly use and clean my gun. Well, I’d just finished cleaning and putting together my 9MM, and was doing a trigger test. When I pulled back the slide and let it go, my hand got in the way and it pinched my skin.

JUSTIN: Did you cry?

ME: No. It kind of hung there. I couldn’t get it off myself. I was like, Hubby, Hubby. Get this off. He kind of looked at me and then the gun.

JUSTIN: Laughs some more.

Co-worker Janice walks by.

ME: Hey, Janice! Wanna see something cool?

JANICE: Sure, babe. Walks over.

ME: Shows hand.

JANICE: Looks like you got pinched.

ME: Uh-huh.

JANICE: Doing what?

ME: Cleaning my gun.

JANICE: Laughs at me. Literally AT me. Honey, you need to wait for it to bruise up more before you go showing it off. More impressive that way. Walks away.

ME: Scowls a little but still darn proud of my wound AND how I got it. Thinks to self: I wonder if Tris ever got one of these while cleaning her gun during the Dauntless initiation. Then I shake my head. Who am I kidding? Tris is a Bad ass.


My Taurus PT92 – 9MM

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