Say cheese.

My (soon to be) ex husband had dealings with the mob.   That was pretty much the nail in our marriage's coffin.  He is a compulsive gambler, and apparently thought it was a good business move to borrow money from the dudes that ran the upper east side. He was mistaken.
These guys tracked us down when we moved to a suburb in Bergen county, NJ.  They would knock on my door at 10am every morning for a few months.  I'd answer the door- all pregnant, out to there. They'd ask where my husband was.  I'd say, "uh, work?"
They took pictures of me and my son, walking the dogs, playing on the front porch, etc.  Ya know, just doing every day stuff.. so as to have good ammo when they pulled my ex into a town car and burned his arm with a blow torch. You know, like, "listen mister!  we know what your wife and kid look like! you want us to burn their forearms like we're burning yours? you better pay up!"  You know, like that.
I know this because when my husband came home with gauze all over his burned arm, he told me so. Well, months later he told me so. At the time, he said he got burnt by hot cooking oil that some incompitant had spilled on him enroute to dumping it out.  This supposedly happend in Dallas.. when in fact he was not in Dallas at all. He was in Vegas... pawning my engagement ring and going on a $22,000 spending spree. But I digress.

I actually saw them taking my picture once.  I was looking out my living room window-- just looking out on the day, when I got a distant flash in the corner of my eye.  Sure enough, there was that guy, sitting in his silver car, snapping pictures.  For a second, I felt like Angelina Jolie. Toootally glamourous.