We have this neighbor in our development who’s a textbook Nice Guy: affable, good with small talk, pleasant in appearance, is often spotted in his yard playing catch with his children. So I’ve decided he’s a Secret Murderer. 

This idea fills me with delight. Every time we see him and we’re out of earshot, I riff on his murderer-shtick. 

“Hey, guys,” I say, as Neighbor, “I’ve got this thing in my garage that’s so interesting. I can’t explain it with words and stuff. You have to, uh, you have to come and see it. One at a time. Scott, you first.” 

Scott: “Ha.” 

“Hey guys,” I continue, “can you help me with this thing in the trunk of my car? It’s really cool. I can only show it to you when it’s, um, when it’s dark out. Come back in an hour. Oh and leave your phones at home? I’m not sure why.” 

(Even though this man is socially adept in real life, as a murderer he has no game. He’s working on it!) 

Scott: “Uh huh.” 

“Hey guys,” I say. “Did you see my murder shed out back? I mean … my normal shed!  Shit!” 

“Honey, this is kind of dark.”
“I know, right?” I am giddy. Scott is concerned. 

In other domestic news

Our microwave’s door sort of broke, so while you can turn it on, it’s not providing the solid, reassuring “thunk” we’ve come to expect. In other words, I’m assuming, it will irradiate you along with the food? That’s bad, right? Seems bad. Scott’s advised we should simply “put [our] weight into it” while holding the door shut and the microwave rays may or may not cook us from the inside out. (We’ve ordered a new door. But it won’t get here before our organs are lightly poached.) 

In conclusion

The summer was lovely and lulled me into a pleasant stupor, from which I am struggling to emerge. (Yes, yes, I know, it’s still technically summer but also, it’s over, I’m so sorry.) Henry and I were talking and he was regaling me with tales of intrigue among his friend group and in his work life, and then he was like, “So what’s new with you?” and I began frantically scanning for… something? Even a good lie? Should I become a murderer? Just to mix things up?

Oh, who am I kidding, I don’t have the grip strength.