I bet it surprises you not at all to learn that I did not particularly enjoy shooting guns yesterday. As with the trapeze, my instincts tend more toward the flight end of things, and especially with this big one here I could not manage to force my body to lean forward. You want me to put my face on this gun? I am not overly fond of my face, but I do greatly enjoy that it is attached to my body, and would prefer to keep it that way.
None of the people giving us these lessons were particularly pleased with me as a potential assassin--my hands were too small to adequately grip the pistol, my neck too short to see very well through the sights of the rifle, and I could not manage the recoil on the Glock to save my life. (So to speak.) They all seemed just as glad as I was when my turn was over, since I think we were all wondering if I would manage to get through without accidentally turning the whole place into a bugs bunny cartoon. If I decide to pursue a career as a mercenary, it will definitely be against the odds.
Fortunately, the next stop on the adventure was a whiskey tasting, and if I am terrible at shooting guns I at least have a great talent for drinking whiskey.
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