A Serial Killer Christmas
So, being the sick couple of people that we are, Hubby and I went to see Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street during this joyful Christmas season. I’m not a fan of musicals so I was prepared to spend two hours rolling my eyes.
But no, my rat-nosed friends! The songs weren’t lame at all—he not only sang a touching love song to his straight razor but he sang about people being full of shit! This is a guy I can link arms with and, together, we can harmonize a tune about how everyone deserves to die, particularly people who need a shave.
Oh, and there’s some cannibalism involved as well. I can’t really get behind that . . . I mean, if you really dislike a person are you going to eat him? I don’t even like to mess around with raw chicken when I cook dinner.
But there’s more serial killing involved here, people! My husband knows me so well that he gifted me with the DVD collection of the first season of Dexter. I must say—this is a great idea! A serial killer who’s a forensic scientist? I do declare! How do they come up with these kinds of ideas? “Bless his heart,” I declared as I sipped my mint julep and fanned myself. My suitors continued to talk about the concept while I worried my pretty little head about how my corset was pinching my side fat.
Wait. Sorry. I got my stories confused. Please note: Scarlett O’Hara is not a serial killer. Also please note that this is yet another post in which I, apparently, have lost total control of what goes on in my head.
