Fun Making

My husband mocks things.

Paint balling is one of those things.

He ranks it only just a little less dorky than Dungeons and Dragons and medieval sword fights in the park.

Last year when his brother invited him to an Elders Quorum camp out/paintball war, he went reluctantly.

And came back with huge bruises.

(but not as huge as the "other" guys', I am told)

I think he had fun, but he had more fun making fun of it.

Enter: Elders Quorum Paintball War 2011. Coming up this weekend.

Yesterday afternoon he decided to go, and by 6:00 p.m. (thanks to the powers of iPhone) he had purchased two guns, all the gear, and enough ammo to last a lifetime. For $20 more than it would have cost him to rent it.

I think he was feeling sheepish about his about-face, and needed to justify his purchase by saying,

"Well, I guess anything that gives you that many bruises can't be too gay."

My smirk knew no bounds.

And then he "tested" the big gun by loading it with a paintball, handing it to Sy, and telling him to shoot the chicken hut.

Smirk gone.

Sometimes I do not have the words.

But you can bet your bottom button that as soon as the words come, I will be mocking the socks off of Ty.

* Sy insists on that goofy flared-nostril, closed-lipped "smile" whenever I pull out the camera, and he spent the rest of last evening pretending the garden hose attachment was a gun. Heaven help.

* Can you guess whose chicken hut is now sporting a lot of duct tape? Our neighbors love us.