One horribly humid afternoon, deep in the heart of Texas, my mom asked me if I would be kind enough to make a trip to the grocery store for her. But this wasn't just any trip, nor was it merely a grocery store - I was headed to Central Market. As any angsty senior with no gas in her car and no energy to give her sweet momma, I was not looking forward to the trip. However, this horribly humid afternoon and seemingly annoying chore would pose one of the most introspective and philosophical questions I had ever been faced with.
My best friend and I had just finished accumulating all of the items on Ma's list. As any regular Central Market goer knows, no Central Market trip is complete without some gelato! The creamier Italian version of ice cream is a customer favorite, and there was no way I was missing out on that Lemon Cookie flavor.
Once we are out in the car, the gelato slowly melting in both our laps and our mouths, a man and his family walk up to the huge Dodge truck sitting in front of us. In classic people watching nature, my best friend and I assume the aloof yet totally focused role of a bystanding customer. In one hand, this man has his baby. I remember it was a Sunday because the whole family was adorned in fluffy pastels (for the ladies) or sharp plaid (for the men) ... (because in Texas we perpetuate cisgender identities and expression on our young). In the other hand, he held something black and solid and the shiny. Literally, in one hand a baby, in the other, a gun.
I'm all for freedom of what-the-f***-ever, but sir, I do have one question for you and your nonchalant advertising of your deadly weapon (especially at a grocery store?)...
Which one felt heavier?
