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MY KINGDOM FOR A PAT
Warm up the popcorn and chill your glass of white wine to enjoy the world's best Newsletter.
A few days ago I received an outraged e-mail from a customer who couldn't believe I was talking politics in my newsletter. She made me cry, because it took me back to elementary times. That distant time when I was limited to being the pretty little girl in the playground. The one who turned the heads of the little yokels, the little terrors who terrorized the others. I used my smile to use them like remote-controlled cars.
Despite this marvelian power, my humility prevailed. I always wanted to do good, and I found injustice intolerable. Particularly that which affects my family. Touch a hair on my father's head, my mother's, my brother's and sister's, and I become a nuclear attack beyond anything the world has ever known. Family is sacred. My father raised me with a VHS tapes of Mafia movies, and his absence.
So I had to deal with the void he left and films like "The Godfather", "Goodfellas", "Scarface", "The Untouchables" and "Carlito's Way". Obviously, this form of viewing shapes you into a woman with its own codes of honor.
From then on, you didn't touch the people closest to me. uncles, aunts and cousins could all go to hell, because it's the inner circle that counts. The others are just stand-ins. My nanny was Don Corleon, Carlito Brigante, Tommy de Vito or Tony Montana. I might as well tell you that I was equipped with a Tagada strawberry bazooka if anyone messed with my loved ones.
And I was never short of ammunition. Today I've calmed down, or so everyone thinks. But I still have my secret weapon, the one that helps me stay alert and take care of my loved ones. Hugs and kisses, as if you were Marshmallows.
