This is my holster. It’s from Galco. It’s not comfortable.
Do you see how it rides my hip? Just like in the magazines. That is supposed to minimize the profile of the weapon during concealed carry while tilting the gun forward for quick, smooth deployment.
But it’s not comfortable. When I have time I will read some old reviews of the holster; any holster for that matter, and try to find the word, “comfort.” I need to make sure it’s still a thing, because wearing my M&P in the Galco was a minor burden.
I strapped it on last night when I walked the dog. I looked at it in the mirror before I left. I resisted the temptation to fidget with it as I walked. Was it falling? Had it really just moved a few inches further up my side? My pant’s weren’t falling down, were they?
“They can see it.” There was nobody accept for the occasional car. But I was sure that they could see it. Them. Somebody would walk around the turn behind me and look up just in time to see the rough outline of the gun beneath my flight jacket. Or worse, they would hear it fall and hit the sidewalk. And they would tackle me, like the guy at Walmart. Call the cops. The dog would run away and join a pack of Stone Mountain coyotes.
I got home, and it was precisely where it was when I left. It hadn’t moved a millimeter. Which is good. Only, why did it feel like it was trying to climb out and run away.
I tried to switch the straps around so that it would be an outside of the waistband holster. The screws didn’t screw into the grommets that attached the belt loops to the holster.
I should probably wear an undershirt.
I need a better belt. Everyone talks about how important it is to have the right belt. I think I get it now.
I didn’t think it would fit inside of my waistband.
I’m going to begin thinking about carrying when I buy my clothes. I don’t know what that means yet, but I can see some blazers in my near future.
That being said, carrying a gun on my hip reminds me of something that my wife told me a long time ago about high heals and thongs and all of those other uncomfortable trappings of femininity.
“You have to suffer for beauty,” she said.
And now I’m suffering for security.