Sometimes I'll have a text exchange with someone, and it will inadvertently and spontaneously illuminate a serious black hole in my life. That's what happened last night when I (in blue) had the following text exchange with a fellow Juneau Sister Wife (in gray):
A few things about this: I've been very upfront about my love for the true crime shlockumentary genre, so all of my friends know that I'm the one to ask when you want to find out what channel Forensic Files is on. But before I could say, "channel 69, Headline News, same as Nancy Grace, OBVI," my friend had it on lock. She's quick like that.
Side bar: speaking of channel 69, if you ever need to suggest doing a 69 with someone, you can simply use this handy emoji:
Remember 69s, kids? Let me give you a minute while you walk down memory lane on that one. Aaaand . . . done. All good? Cool. If you're reading this and are over the age of 30, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and posit that the last time you found yourself in a 69 was before emojis even existed, so there's no better time than now to jump back in that game.
Anyhoo, back to Forensic Files. I probably don't need to point out how pathetic it is that the second my friend said the words "kitchen window," I knew she was talking about the episode where a woman got murdered by her next door neighbor who creeped in through her open kitchen window on a hot night, and got caught because he put his uniquely patterned prison-issued sneaker into a tomato that was ripening on the sill. (Incidentally, this was also the episode in which I learned that "forensic optometrist" is a profession that exists).
Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not making light of murder. I'm making dark of the fact that I have a zillion random people's murders memorized.