I'd Fight For You . . .

My dad isn't one of those shotgun-type fathers. The kind that sit on the porch in a rocker, intimidating boys with threats of castration if they mess with me. Possibly because I never gave him any reason to be. But most likely because he trusts me, and thinks of me as a competent woman who can make good choices when it comes to men. And thank God for that.

But it's still an awfully comforting feeling to think that there are a few guys who would get mad for me. Who would go fight a guy who treated me badly if I asked them to. OK, not fight maybe. But threaten.

Or perhaps throw things at and run away.

Anyway, it's the thought that counts. And I'm a pacifist and abhor violence. But still, it makes me warm and fuzzy.

Although I just had a glass of wine, so maybe it's that.