Like a name tattoo, when you have endorsed the importance of a person, using the words “full confidence,” you are essentially playing the first notes of the swan song of the relationship. Many consider this the first notes of demise, especially within the Washington political scene.
How many people do you know who have a lonely “leftover” tattoo of an eternity symbol on their ring finger, however, their ring and the person they were attached to is now gone?
Last week when I heard that President Trump had “full confidence” in Director James Comey, I began to hear what I thought was the softly playing death knell of a large ancient urban myth tolling in the background of his career, and I knew his days as Head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation were limited.
It wasn’t long before I also heard the theme music from the Godfather, commingling with this week’s news and commentary. This specific song always plays when there is the scent of any kind of mendacity, lies, or betrayal. It matters not, to the editor of my internal playlist. This is not about WHO was betrayed…any betrayal will do. It just is, what it is, and I can smell it like a dead rat in the road. That’s just part of the charm my internal soundtrack editor.
There was NO WAY James Comey did not feel it coming. Mr. Comey, you knew your days were numbered when you heard this praise. It’s a bit of a done deal when an American president proclaims they have “full confidence" in a person…or situation. Again, this is common knowledge in Washington political circles. You don’t tattoo someone’s name on your body or put eternity symbols on your finger without challenging the unknown powers that be…or would you? Maybe that's just superstition.
I can follow this scent of betrayal, back to the beginning of one summer just after high school. I remember a girlfriend of mine (she knows who she is). This girl had a thing for any boy I was dating. I had a realization that grew into a “FULL CONFIDENCE” of her inability to be my friend. I had noticed she had this same “thing” for my other girlfriends' boyfriends too. It was just a matter of time before she socially “swam with da fishes,” like Fredo Corleone, in the second Godfather.
I also remember when, just like that famous scene, she received her “symbolic kiss of death” from me. It was in sad hug goodbye, at a summer party in front of everyone. This was after someone told me that she was tooling around town in the catbird seat of my boyfriend's 1969 Z-28.
That was the summer I began wearing red lipstick.