mafia don

once i asked my father in law, whose last name is love, who is from new york, hey.

 if you had the chance to be in the mafia, would you have taken it?

and in his typical father in law cigar smoking fashion, he kind of skirted the question.

like father like son.

he will only answer the questions he wants to.

so his answer was this.

i couldn't be in the mafia.  i'm not italian.

see what i mean?

but i persisted, irish girl that i am.

well.

would you if you could have?

he didn't blink.

didn't answer.

 just took another puff on his cigar.

what.

ever.

once he showed up, and parked his 'ride' in front of my house.

then he had to split, to make the drive back to his waterfront hideout.

i mean lake house.

i waved from the porch, the godfather walked him to his car.

they kissed on the lips, and patted each other on the backs.

evidence of la cosa nostra if there ever was, i say.

i called out LOVE IT!  

you guys are so cosa nostra!

my father in law asked the godfather,

is she always like this?

the godfather said yeah, pretty much.

'she's into this sh*t.'

so?

your point?

i look to those guys.

the beacons.

 dragon slayers.

call me weak.

i don't care.

i say this.

i'm not as tough as i may seem.

help.

i'm here.

tell someone.

tell someone i'm here.

cancer can be scary.

sometimes a gal needs back up.

xx katy