From Stock to Shooting

Fiorella thought she was almost through with the paperwork, that the stock stuff was all set up to go, but noooooooo, so hijo menor, a former stockbroker, took charge. In an  hour, he accomplished what Fio has been trying to got done for a month. But then, he speaks broker-eeze.
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You've read about those guys who send sexy pictures to women they're trying to impress? Well. Fiorella has a FB follower like that, but she refuses to acknowledge him. Telling him off, she figures, would only make the game more exciting for him.
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Your Fio grew up in a relatively quiet family, and she spent a lot of her indoor time in her bedroom, drawing, painting, writing, dreaming. She still likes a peaceful atmosphere around her--no drama, no yelling or screaming, no loud television. Of course, part of the reason for her preference is that her aging ears have become extra-sensitive to loud noises.
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Nothing like your septic tank bubbling over and the guy on the end of the line snarling "You mean you waited till tonight when I'm driving to the airport to call me?" Fio hastily informed him that she had just discovered the situation, and he told her what the problem probably was, but when she asked what to do about it, he got mad at her again and told her to get a screwdriver and have a man fix it. Luckily, her Elder Son was in residence and took over, but Fio is infuriated. She pays that rude guy's company a lot of money each year to tend her tanks, come rain or shine. Next year, she's switching companies.
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There's been another mass shooting--twelve dead this time, and several wounded. Ho-hum, Fiorella had figured it was about time for another one. We'll all just have to get used to it.