So I was watching a “Dateline,” and it left me wondering about my fellow women. Sister women? Why is there no female equivalent of “fellow?” Hmm. Deep thoughts for a Monday.
Anyway, the story was about a woman who had drowned in her bathtub, and her husband who was tried for her murder. But that’s not the part that got me. It was the women, from coast to coast, who reached out to this guy after his first trial. And his second. And possibly his third.
I mean, really? Is that how we want to spend our time, chatting with a guy who, eventually, was convicted in the murder of his wife?
And it wasn’t just one woman. Apparently, the website set up to help free the guy operated a lot like a dating service. Which also makes you wonder about the guy’s constantly proclaimed innocence, given that, if he didn’t kill his wife, he’d probably, you know, grieve for her. For at least five minutes. Maybe ten.
I think that’s where my problem with the whole thing lies. There was never a sense of loss; just one of something to be gained.
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