When I was a wee young lass, a show that was regularly on one of the two channels that we got through our television aerial (this is pre-WIFI and pre-cable and pre-satellite dish, all you babies out there) was Gunsmoke. Set in Dodge City, Kansas during the settlement of the American West, Gunsmoke was a western drama series that had been around forever. I remember no real plot lines, but I do remember Marshall Matt Dillon and his deputy Festus and, for some strange reason, the sound of their voices: the deep tenor of Marshall Dillon and the squeaky drawl of Festus.

Oh and, of course, I remember Miss Kitty.

In my memory much of the action took place in the local saloon, where Miss Kitty served up refreshments and, ahem, “entertained” the patrons. I had been to Edmonton’s Klondike Days in the seventies: girls that dressed like Miss Kitty were good can-can dancers and they looked mighty fine in a bustle. End of story. I was five.

I was, however, in my five-year-old cognizance, aware of the urst (unresolved sexual tension) that existed between Marshall Dillon and Kitty. Except it wasn’t called that back then – all I really remember is that they seemed to like each other, but they never kissed on screen. Wikipedia says that “Kitty is just someone Matt has to visit every once in a while”.

Like every other self-respecting five-year-old girl, I just saw the romance in it. I adored Miss Kitty for the television-star that she was: glamorous and feminine and entrepreneurial. (Hey! She was part-owner of the saloon!) But business owner aside, I saw Miss Kitty as a girl. And when I was five, in my pre-women’s-liberation mindset, there were just certain things that you did not do to girls.

Namely, shoot them. It would seem that in the course of a long-running television series that featured gunslingers in the American West that every single cast member had to get shot at least once. But I don’t think anyone important ever died. I’m sure back then, as they do now, they just write in some superfluous character (for one show and one show only!) that will take the fatal bullet that saves the rest of the top billing cast. (“Who is that guy? Oh, wait, they’re gonna go ambush the Mob in an abandoned factory. Never mind.”)

The thing was, though, I didn’t know about movie magic when I was five. I thought that if someone got shot on the show, they really got shot. Like, with a real gun and real bullets. Doctors were standing by to perform life-saving surgery and it usually worked. This was just a part of the gig, apparently, and that was why actors got paid the big bucks.

And, apparently, one day Miss Kitty drew the short straw.

But she survived! Whew!

Okay, I’m older (than five) now and I know that this is not how it works (anymore. I mean, maybe it did work like that back then?) I did have some nightmares. I mean, they shot Miss Kitty, ergo NO ONE is safe.

I must have got over it at some point. Blood and guts didn’t bother me – maybe that’s why I opted for a stint (one year and one year only!) in nursing school. I also didn’t mind needles – my whole class practiced saline hip shots on me – less fun than Jell-O shots, but I was a martyr for the cause.

Fast forward to now: I still don’t mind needles (go donate blood, y’all) but I am starting to lose my stomach for shoot-em-up shows that pass for entertainment. The other night Rick and I unknowingly picked out such a flick for a Sunday evening. I was interested in the plot so we watched till the end, but seriously? These people were enjoying killing each other. Ain’t no doctor that could fix that, if it was real.

I’m still a little naive, like five-year-old Bonnie, but I’m also adamant in believing that Real People Out There are Mostly Nice. Real People don’t shoot girls OR boys for fun.

Maybe what I need to do is get back to the sweet and romantic stories. Maybe that’s why some people that I love as they get older have fallen in love with those predictable-and-maybe-a-little-badly-acted Hallmark movies that I make fun of. Maybe this is my future. Maybe this is what getting older is about: deciding what nonsense I’m gonna put up with.

I’m gonna vote for Nice, for Kind, for Sweet, even for a little Naive. I know what Miss Kitty’s profession was now, but like all good stories, Gunsmoke knew that they didn’t have to tell you everything in order to spin a good yarn. And they didn’t shoot everyone in the same episode, so there’s that, too.

And I mean, let’s be real: that would have been too stressful for the surgeon on call.