I’m a big fan of Top Shot’s Gabby Franco. Gabby does NOT like me. And for good reason. A couple of months back, after some pseudo-journalistic flirtation, Gabby agreed to meet me in Miami for dinner. The Floridian firearms instructor was less-than-thrilled when I failed to show up. I’d entered the wrong date into my iPhone. No, not drinks with the leggy blond personal injury attorney at the Marriott DelRay Beach. I thought we were meeting on a Tuesday. It was Monday. Gabby called from the restaurant. If apologizing was an Olympic sport, I was Michael Phelps. So I bumped into the diminutive eliminatee at the SIG SAUER booth here at NRA and, uh, hit on her. To her credit Gabby let me down with kind words and soothing hugs. Damn those hugs. God damn them all to hell. Anyway, nice woman. Just not to me, now. But where’s there’s an ex-wife (or two), there’s hope.