Summer showdown

For a whole summer, I was enchanted by this extremely good-looking man (think talking, charming, well-travelled CK Underwear model). Our first few dates were some of my very best: French restaurants, great wine, concerts in the park, BBQs with his family, lazy Sunday brunches etc. That summer - and our relationship - lasted into September. More precisely to one mid-September Saturday afternoon when I woke up in his apartment which was a slight dump despite the fact that he was in the decorating/contracting business. I'd needed a towel and he directed me to his closet. Like the rest of the place, it was a mess. I was digging up the mound of clothes when I chanced upon a firearm. A handgun. The kind you see on The Wire. I screamed and leapt out of the closet. Needless to say, I don't have an NRA membership and am petrified of the idea of civilians carrying guns unless they live and hunt in the countryside. I doubted somehow that this guy was planning to shoot Bambi for veal parmigiana. He tried to explain that it was for protection. I didn't even want to know what that meant so I hightailed it out of there. Later, I found out that being a contractor from New Jersey can mean something else too...