I didn’t know about them when I moved in, and mugging, rape, burglary, carjacking, and a number of other crimes are new to me. People tell me that’s just the way cities are. But I’m from a small town with a volunteer fire department. No one back home ever needed to take a personal safety class.

I’ve long had Mace on my key ring to deter a drunk or a mean dog, but I’ve never used it. It’s illegal in the city, and will only aggravate someone strung out on drugs who’s after my purse. I’m 5-foot 4-inches and 130 pounds, and I still look like a teenager. I ride the bus to and from work, and I cannot help but wonder how much risk I’m taking by leaving the house at all.

According to a health analysis survey I took recently, my most likely cause of death in the next ten years is homicide. At least I don’t have to worry about cancer. I’ve also discovered, courtesy of the eternal optimists at the Justice Department, that I fit enough of the profile for Violent Victimization to be its poster girl. For those of you keeping score at home, here’s a list of those factors:

In 1981, the District Court of Washington, D.C., ruled in Warren V. Dstrict of Columbia that personal defense is an individual responsibility and not the purview of local law enforcement. In the process of taking responsibility for my safety I’ve explored many options: Martial arts. Stun guns. Those personal safety classes. Handguns.

Yes, handguns.

I’m not about to bet that any of my Jackie Chan moves will do much to ward off real danger. Stun guns don’t work well, and who wants to get close enough to try? I need something that will deliver consistent, predictable results, from a distance. I need a handgun.

This has not been an easy decision to arrive at. I once (lovingly) called my boyfriend a “paranoid nutcase” when he bought a gun and got his concealed pistols license. I’ve read up on all the statistics regarding accidental shootings (guns killed 5,285 children in one year according to the Brady gun-control group).

The concept of a woman owning a handgun really upsets men. A few of these hairy-knuckled Neanderthals are under the impression that “it’s just not right” for a lady to pack heat. God forbid I impinge on their right to protect me from their less enlightened brethren in my ZIP code.

And then there’s the women’s movement. Betty Friedan called the trend of women’s gun ownership “a horrifying, obscene perversion of feminism.” Betty, Betty, Betty! What is horrifying and obscene is sharing the neighborhood Starbucks with four sexual predators. Feminism gets confusing when it aligns itself with the good ol’ boys.

Many of the feminists I know are as opposed to the idea of women carrying a weapon – even with the proper training and licensing – as men are. Feminism is about empowering women. The feminist movement has granted me the right to work, the right to vote, and the right to an abortion if I want one – a procedure, incidentally, by which I am more likely to die than by a self-inflicted gunshot. But they’re against me making a choice to protect myself responsibly.

I won’t be “packin’ a piece” a la Jay-Z, Eminem, or Queen Latifa. I will be a public defender carrying a personal defense enhancing tool. I won’t be Wyatt Earp, I’ll be me. But I’ll be safe.

As for those who espouse the philosophies of non-violence and peace, love, and harmony, I hear that there’s an opening in my building. We can walk to the bus stop together. It’s only two ZIP codes away.

Sources: Hand gun Control, Inc., Web page, National Safety Council, 1993, and Health, March/Apr 1994.

Jessica L. Mainard has a B.A. degree from Evergreen State College in Olympia, Wash. She wrote this article while an intern for the Second Amendment Foundation, where she is now Collegiate Programs Director.