A Florida Boy here, too. As a my racquetball partner once put it, I "have an extremely efficient cooling system." In short: I sweat profusely, so "light" clothing will be worn by me after another couple of cool waves.

Once faced with a similar situation and recognizing the business side of a handgun being pretty much the same in all of the models mentioned by the thread starter, I focused on the "handle" part and at the end of which, as far as I was concerned, the single-stack 39xx pistols won out.

First came an accuracy assessment, because when not even a teenager I let rip 12 rds. from a .30 carbine to down a whitetail deer - mostly sprayed around, not directly at the target because I had at least that many rounds to discharge - I realized that effectiveness translates to but one round per target for adequately doing the job.

Given the nature of one former professional, um, "position" I'm well aware the generally spouted advice of "discharging a firearm until the threat has been effectively silenced."

Mindful of my above-referenced younger-days experience, I've since witnessed (occurring over many decades) a lot of brass hitting the turf but afterward seeing bad guys still standing.

To me - and others will surely disagree, citing one thing or another - effectiveness trumps the ineffective, for should the first bullet effectively strike the target the show ends very quickly.

In an ancillary argument to that of "quality vs. quantity," when people are allowed to act like swine at a buffet that's exactly what is seen.

When a kid, I knew I had 15 rds. in one magazine, and plenty of back up in another, so why not pull that trigger again and again. Afterward, I was purely embarrassed.

Soon afterward I changed to a bolt-action carbine and started regularly hitting the range. When later in my so-called day job, it became a couple-or-three of times every week, and burning anywhere from 100 to 300 rounds each time, per gun. I still go at least once weekly even though I'm no longer in need of being graded for my performance

When a present-day business associate - coincidentally a gun-store owner - suggested his carry weapon, a 3913, should be mine, too, I went with it and gave it a go even though at the time my after-life carry was the same as the one carried from new as a backup in the 70's - a Star Super M .380.

The 3913 performed exceptionally. And I do mean "exceptionally." Indeed, I now own five (but I also happen to collect S&W semis, too) and, after all, the 3913 does have seven iterations (if one also counts as a 3913 the 3914).

If one seeks to "conceal" then the object isn't to show, of course - the very same reason I carried that Star SM for three decades. indeed, I've still got that sucker and I'm still proficient with it.

At about, say, roughly 7/8ths the size of a 39-2 or a variety of other company guns, the Star was very, very slick for concealment and it damn sure came in handy more than a few times, having escaped chances for numerous detections by precisely the same people as would it later be aimed.

Back in "the day" I wore the Star on my ankle. When wintertime in Florida, I can afford to put the 3913 below an armpit because of increased clothing needs. When the summer comes, and it'll be upon us within two to four weeks, I'll switch back to the ankle.

While I no longer have much concern about being "caught," I still don't want people knowing where I carry, or even if I carry at all. And I don't wish to "tell" anyone, either, if you catch my drift.

Long ago, while attending "camp," I discovered my own bad habit at the hands of some instructors who were teaching us what to look for in the movements of a bad guy: I kept checking to see if my weapon was where I last checked for my weapon - and usually within arm's length. (Surprisingly, it rarely moved.)

Then there was the occasional pat down . . . by the guys with long black waxed mustaches.

While I'd sometimes get patted down from beneath my arm pits to at least the waist line, rarely did I get checked in my groin area or on ankles. Less frequently I'd get some exuberant new guy who'd pat down each leg but in an equal number of times they were way too lazy to bend all the way over, or even get down on one knee, to sufficiently check my ankles.

Restated: They'd beat my calves; not my ankles. Had they gone just inches farther, a very tightly secured Star, in a specially made, fitted holster by a fellow named Ray Sullivan, would've been found.

I still have the Star, that holster and my life. The ruse worked.

New to be used this summer is my specially fitted and made ankle holster for my 3913. We'll see how it works this summer, especially when wearing my swimsuit.

Later,

DC