My husband says that my television viewing consists of about 90 hours per week. I protested that statistic, until a friend and I were comparing what we are currently watching.

I ticked off a list of the sorts of shows I view, and two things became evident: One, the amount of titles I mentioned was as long as my arm. So yes, I guess it must all add up to a lot of hours. Second, most of them involve murders.

Unsolved ones. Now those shows are frustrating! Why have them on if the perpetrator isn’t caught? And if he is still around, he could strike again. Perhaps that is why these shows are popular–to make us nervous and to keep us from parking in dim garages, especially if we are going clubbing alone and staying out late. Which I don’t have to worry about. So I watch these shows.

Another category is the documentaries about serial killers. I watch those, too. Most of those guys have been caught, so I can feel secure while viewing the gory details. Every serial killer eventually makes a mistake. And thank God for DNA! Now one cigarette butt can get the guy put away for life.

The shows that make me sad are the ones in which the bad guy goes free, due to an excellent defense lawyer. These attorneys are so good at punching holes in the prosecutions’ cases: you know the drill–it’s just circumstantial, or hearsay, or not beyond the shadow of a doubt. How do these people sleep at night, knowing that they are getting scumbags off? And how do the scumbags afford these attorneys?

I am so imbued with crime now, that I A) Won’t take the stairs in my building. Way too dangerous. B) I check the backseat before I get in my car. C) Alleys are off limits. D) Now that everybody wears masks, I get even more nervous than I was before, and I wonder what kind of masks a criminal would choose: black? One with skeletons on it? A leather one? D) I thank heaven that it is now ok to stay home most of the time. And E) I decided to look for a  new genre of programming to watch.

I can be sure of one thing: it won’t be cooking shows.

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