Today I bought a brown, tubular, suede bag from an estate sale on Santa Monica Boulevard. A guy working at the sale remarked, "That bag is just so cool. I just knew someone was going to buy it to keep their yoga mat."
I don't dislike yoga but I haven't done it since Roslyn High School gym with Ms. Jake, and even then it was only a six-week elective. I felt embarrassed so I responded with, "Oh, I was going to keep my gun in it."
"Really," the guy asked cautiously while his smile melted to his chin. Then he nodded.
"No! No. I'm just kidding. I don't have a GUN!" At that point I kind of wish I did own a gun, one that I didn't use or look at, whose nonexistence I could have been lying about at that moment. The guy ran off to his coworkers laughing and re-told them what I'd said.
To clarify, this isn't an online confession of how much I'd like to own a gun because I do not want to own a gun.