If I Ever Go Missing, Ask My Wife About It First

(Photo credit: dhammza)

When you enter a committed, monogamous relationship with someone, you will eventually find out some strange facts about your chosen mate. They might brush their teeth in the shower or floss in bed. For me, I found out my wife likes to slather her grilled cheese sandwiches in mayonnaise, kisses dogs on the mouth, and keeps a sweater in her purse at all times because nothing seems more necessary than a nice warm sweater in July.

She will swear these are all normal things. In fact, as I am writing this, she is sitting off to the side explaining that mayonnaise gives a grilled cheese a nice zip and that sweater comes in very handy at the driver’s license bureau. If there is any doubt in your mind as you read this, if you are sitting there thinking you are strange for eating regular grilled cheese or keeping your mouth away from slobbering dog tongues, rest easy knowing that you are not strange, at least where grilled cheese and purse contents are concerned.

While these are all weird, there is one detail that is much more disturbing.

She is a true crime freak.

I came downstairs one night to find my wife on the couch, staring at the TV. I stood back a second, expecting the energy her eyes had concentrated on that poor television to cause it to suddenly burst into flames. I said her name, but all I received back was a mild grunt.

Curious, I made my way to the couch and sat next to her. She did not seem to notice. She was busy watching a dramatic reenactment of a crime flash across the screen. A man’s voice came through the speakers. While I do not remember the exact words he said, it was along these lines:

“While Elizabeth and her husband were hoping for a nice ski weekend together, what he did not know was that this weekend would end with him buried in the snow.”

I glanced at her. She was still very much engrossed, barely blinking.

There are very few things more unnerving than sitting with your wife as she is transfixed by a show spelling out a way someone murdered their husband. I quickly concocted a story. She was probably very tired and was just zoning out. Maybe she even fell asleep with her eyes open. She had no idea this show had even come on, so she definitely was not watching it for sinister reasons.

A commercial came on and she turned to me.

“What did you need?” she asked. I looked deeply into her eyes. They did not look especially cold and calculating. It definitely must have been the sleep thing.

“Nothing. Why are you watching this?” I did not want to accuse her of anything, lest it be what pushes her over the edge, sending her on a homicidal rampage.

“Oh, I just like it. It’s really fascinating.” This was not the answer I was hoping for. I was really hoping it would be more along the lines of “Watch what? I was practicing transcendental meditation and forgot the TV was on.”

Since this time, I have witnessed my wife stare at many other TV shows in this same way. She has watched hundreds of poor dramatic reenactors be killed in dozens of different ways. Apparently, I married the Morticia, queen of death.

She tells me that liking true crime shows is not weird. After all, there is an entire cable network devoted to them. I would point out that there are two channels that show only senate debates over whether or not a bridge in Bertram, Texas should be built with taxpayer money, but this seems like something the poor spouses would do on the show before they “take a long vacation.”

Besides, I do weird things too. I cannot think of any myself, but there are definitely some, I am sure.

They do not involve death, though, so I guess I have that going for me.

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