Girls with guns

W and I are watching Wynonna Earp.

In one episode at the end of season one, there’s a pair of sinister twins.

“Sinister twins are my secret fantasy?” I tell W.

“I bet they are,” she says.

It’s true. I’m an #Earper.

And then before we know it, the Earp homestead is under attack, and Wynonna and her sister Willa are busting out of the barn with guns ablazing to save the day.

They pick off the bad guys one by one. Blam! Blam! Blam!

W and I cheer and then we both make a heh, heh, heh noise, which translates to good lord that was hot.

And then I start thinking about the overall hotness of girls and guns. What is it about that combo?

I’m pro girl but anti gun.

Put the two together and it’s a totally different ballgame.

Xena, I miss you.

I should clarify. It doesn’t need to a be a gun. Some other bad ass weapon will work like a sword, for example (see Xena: Warrior Princess).

What is it about bad ass women?

I’m talking Charlize in Atomic Blonde, Uma in Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2, Carrie in Star Wars, Linda in The Terminator.

Do we want them? Or do we want be them?

Are we living vicariously through them? Pretending that we, too, have the power to eliminate our enemies or correct an injustice with one shot from Peacemaker?

I can’t help but notice that most of the bad guys are, well, guys.

Is every TV bad guy a stand-in for men who put us in boxes and tell us to smile? Men who are boys and will always be boys. Men who got but never gave.

Does every bad guy represent sexism or the patriarchy or the system? The boys club or the locker room? Those things that hold us down and push us back and tell us we’re not good enough, never were and never will be.

Is that why we get a charge out of seeing them taken down by a woman after all and in such dramatic fashion?

Or are girls with guns simply hot?

 

 

Love and salad

W and I celebrate our wedding anniversary today.

We agreed not to get each other anything.

I plan to pick up a small cake and Olive Garden takeout as a surprise. W loves Olive Garden.

We’ll probably watch something on TV. Maybe the next episode of Wynonna Earp.

Nothing fancy. Just comfortable.

We’ll eat our dinner and watch a show.

W will let me raid her salad for all of the toppings she doesn’t like–onions, black olives and pepperoncini–and place them on my own. Hey, I’m Italian.

I’ll think about how lucky I am. All of those extra salad goodies every single time.

And how I’ve found my perfect match.

* * *

Why are you and your partner a perfect match?