Buying serial killer books for me is like buying train books for my dad. There's not a lot we don't already have. But I got a whole slew of new ones for my birthday and one specifically deals with the whole theory about head injuries turning people into serial killers.
Ah yes. I totally agree with this theory.
Cut to Friday night, both Joe and I are getting ready to go out. The brass ring that holds up the shower curtain in my bathroom has been falling apart for some time. It's held up by three brass poles attached to the ceiling which keep coming unhinged from the ring. My lazy ass' answer to this problem was to duct tape it whenever it started to fall apart.
I really am surprisingly ghetto.
After my shower and helping Joe pick out his date outfit, I go back into the bathroom to find that two of the three poles had become detatched and the entire shower curtain ring thing was hanging sideways, clutching onto that last pole for dear life.
"Oh my god, Joe! Help!"
He grabs the tape as we agree we really need to get this shit fixed. I mean, I need to be out the door in 15 minutes and I'm standing, soaking wet in the bathrobe holding up a shower curtain and trying to duct tape it to the wall. I'm 30 years old. This can't be normal.
I finally think I've got one of the poles reattached and rest my arms, looking at Joe as we both start laughing. All of a sudden, the WHOLE thing comes crashing down.
On my head.
The neighbors must have thought two 11 year old girls were being stabbed by the screams Joe and I let out. It was really quite something.
The next day, with Joe at work and unshowered, Connected Melissa had me go on YellowPages.com, where I found my new favorite handman, Mr. Green.
We love Mr. Green.
Anyway, as I waited for Mr. Green to show up, I plopped down on my bed with a serial killer book and rubbed last night's bump on my head.
Wait a second.
Wait one serial killing second.
Head injury? Shitty week? Lifelong interest in sex crimes?
San Francisco better watch out...