Long guns aside, I was raised on wheel guns and Colt semis. I learned handgun on a Smith and Wesson K22, moving up to a Colt Police Positive. Then the .45 Mark IV series 70. They pretty much defined what a handgun should be to me- solid, reliable, very fast from holster to hand and (with the exception of the K22, which was a kid's gun) they made big holes.
Over the years I played with other guns. I loved the sleek Browning Hi-Power. Giggled at the deadly accuracy of the Ruger Mark II. Had a passionate crush on the Sig Sauer, but she was out of my league, far more gun than I could afford as a starving student. During these swinging years of my life I often found myself falling back on revolvers, like a Smith 686 or Ruger GP100. Reliable, accurate, and they felt like a gun should feel.
Then the Glock. It was an arranged marriage. The team was going lethal. The Captain (was he still a lieutenant back then?) wanted everyone to have ammo and magazine compatibility. He wanted reliable and, with his bureaucrat hat on, he wanted cheap. We went with the Glock 23 in .40 caliber.
I hated it. It felt like a toy, too light to be a real gun. The grip was too big for my hand.. but it was a done deal. The way it was. And it was one of the things that I might never need, but if I ever did it would be the most important thing in my life. I didn't like it, but we were stuck with each other. So I practiced and came to learn that it was reliable. No matter how hard I shot or how much dirt I dragged it through, as long as my form was good, the Glock would fire every time. And she was accurate. If both bullets didn't go through the two inch square, it was me. As long as I did my job, she would do hers. It was never really love, but after a few years we got along very, very well.
My second arranged marriage was with the Beretta 92 (M9). The Beretta had a bad reputation around the barracks- unreliable and puny. Failed consistently to do her duty. Fit my hand better than the Glock, though, and that was something. On the range, she lived down to her reputation- it was mostly bad magazines and I had to ruthlessly cut those out when found. She was picky and didn't care much for getting dirty and this can be a dirty place. Accurate, though. Moreso even than the Glock. The rangemaster kept my qualification target around for months to scare the locals.
Picky and unreliable, but accurate and fit my hand. That was enough to work with, since we were stuck together anyway. I would just have to supply whatever she couldn't in the relationship.
Most people have comfort foods. I probably have comfort weapons. Blades aside, the revolvers are probably closest. Comfort isn't enough, though. You and your weapon are a pair. Without your weapon, you are unarmed and can only do what meat can do. Without you, your weapon is an inert lump of metal. Together is all that counts. Comfort isn't enough for that. It takes work and practice to make that pairing effective. Even more work to be phenomenal.
There are certainly passions as well. I love the way the Browning Hi-Power feels, the way it comes up on line effortlessly. But it still takes work to be good and no weapon is so thrilling or so reliable that you can ignore basic maintenance forever.
And there is commitment: "This is my rifle, there are many like it but this one is mine..."
I was a little heavy handed above, but I noticed today that some people act towards the weapons that their lives depend on and the mates (that sometimes their soul depends on) in very similar ways.
Some won't commit until they find the one that is 'just right'. Some collect as many as they can but never really work on any one. Some get stuck with one they aren't interested in and instead of getting to know each other, leave it rusting in the holster until they retire. And some, whether it was a love match or an arranged marriage practice, work hard and never neglect maintenance.
I don't know if there is a correlation, if the officers with serial divorces are the same ones that go from weapon to weapon. If the same guys who notch bedposts are the ones with a room full of guns that they have almost never fired. If strong, stable marriages are the same households where the guns are quick and steady from long practice.
But it is an interesting thought for the day, and I never would have thunk it without an exposure to the local custom of arranged marriages.