Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

Two or three weeks ago my beloved cheerfully told me that the H.’s invited us for a Saturday of fun, the girls will hit the pool, the boys will shoot a bucket, followed by an evening dinner.

“Great”, I said, happy that I will finally get to try my long time ago acquired, never used guns. I took my bucket o’ bullets, and because there were not too many left, I added an extra 250, just in case L. has a bigger bucket.

We got to their house and, when the lady of the house saw me with the guns and bullets, she seemed a little surprised: “Look, Stefan brought his guns and a little bucket with bullets!”

Being as brilliantly smart as I am, I immediately sensed that something is not quite alright … anyway, we ended up in the master bedroom, door closed, doing what can be resumed as: “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine”.

I got a crash course in my guns, I got to admire his guns, including the famous .357 and, an hour later, when a slightly worried wife came to check on us, we happily reported that we are still two guys, no extra holes, and the whole arsenal was intact. 

Side note, those revolvers are heavier than my caliber 11 rifle, the bullets cost (now) around two dollars a piece, they are a work of art, but if you get hit with one of those bullets, you either die instantly or you lose a limb. Those are widowmakers! And I’m not getting started on the rifles!

Afterwards we worked out the schedule for the rest of the day, something like: “do you guys want to go to the pool or do some golfing?”

“Oh, no”, we said, “we never golfed, and knowing ourselves we’ll be an embarrassment to golfing”.

“No”, said L, “there is no golfing per se. We just get a bucket with balls and start shooting”.