From Silly to Serious

If you've been following Fio, you know by now that the most frightening words that she can utter are "I'm bored," which means she'll soon be devising a way to amuse herself that you may not approve of. (So sad/ Too bad/ But wasting time/ Is a crime)
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Fiorella's hair is now long enough that she can pull it up into a tiny pony tail, which has gotten her to thinking about following through on her long-time vow to let her hair grow long, then braid it around her head in an up-do favored by her high-school Latin teacher, Elor Osborne, whom she adored.
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Did Fio tell you that Son was so afraid she would wander off into the airport like a stray dog that he arranged for her to be met by an escort with a wheelchair at the other end of the line? Fio dismissed the chair, of course--after two hours of sitting in a plane, she needed the exercise--but kept the escort, who was not only pleasant, but good-looking to boot. Hubba, hubba!
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Fiorella doesn't care about your "right to bear arms." Public safety supersedes it. You aren't supposed to yell "FIRE" is a crowded theater, if you get the connection.
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The family reunion Fio attended has put her on the political warpath again. Her grandfather was an immigrant, and he contributed to the welfare of this country through his occupation and the way he lived his life, as did his offspring, and as do his seven grandchildren today. All countries need the flow of immigrant blood to keep their blood and their brains and hearts from growing stale. DUMP TRUMP!