Behold the power of the Glock 19 lapel pin

And I thought the cupcake suitcase was the ultimate you're-my-dream-woman gaze-getting accessory.

Apparently not. Apparently, an inch-long miniature of the greatest, sleekest handgun ever made pricked into the lapel of my Elevenses' trench not only elicits the aforementioned looks but also initiates more than a few "I just have to ask you, darlin'..." conversations, the tones of which really do make it seem as if the askers just plumb did have no choice but to inquire about the origins of and meaning behind my unusual brooch.

Ladies, I more than encourage you to go out and get your own, but like the lead prostitute laying down the law on Hollywood Boulevard, I'm declaring a no-pin-zone within a four block radius of the ConnAve/M Street intersection. This here's my territory -- find your own.

You know, they say guns kill people and people with guns kill people, but I have a feeling, if I were any less Republican, this gun of mine would more likely have led to lunch-time babymakin' than anything else. And if I'm not mistak'n, babymakin' is the opposite of life-takin'. Uh-huh, put down your Luna Bar and chew on that, gun control lobby.