One of the reasons for my conscious decision not to actively HUNT for a mate…
A few years ago, I was flipping through a book Ann Rule had written about a friend of hers, The Stranger Beside Me, and the pictures struck me. Those eyes! Hot! Manson has them too. And so did ex-boyfriends X, Y, and Z. In fact, ex-boyfriend Y looks a lot like him! Still does…and a little like David Koresh. Retrospectively, I should have foreseen the eminent massacre.
Unfortunately, I fail to find most men attractive (…or fortunately, depending on your point of view). My unhealthy appetite for the wrong guy has revealed itself time after time. A piece of me LIKES what any normal, well-adjusted female should not. I would have fallen for Manson, Einhorn, Hussein, and Stalin. Bad Boy Syndrome on steroids. So I’ve taken a break. I have nothing against men…only the ones that I find irresistible.
Like an overwhelming majority of my ex-boyfriends (definitely ALL of the last four), Bundy was left handed (http://www.people.com/people/archive/article/0,,20075542,00.html).
Bundy had a VW Beetle. Only 2 on my list had those, so maybe I’m overreacting. And at one point Bundy had driven around in an MG. 2 again…but that’s a relatively common car right?
Like Ted, all of my past men SEEMED normal in public.
And I won’t even get into the similarities with the handcuffs…
…or the bite marks.
I would have helped him with his skis.
I would have offered to carry his groceries.
Ted had said in his last interview, a few minutes before his date with electricity, “We are not some kinds of inherent monsters. We are your sons and we are your husbands.” In 1989, I was only 16 and I knew he was talking directly to me. Message received.
No thank you.
The courts should utilize my superpower, instead of a jury, and place me in the same room with the prospective criminal. If my pulse elevates and my palms sweat at the sight of the individual in question, or if I blurt out, “I love you!” or, “Please marry me! We’re meant to be together!”–the man should be restrained in leather, given a Hannibal Lecter Mask, and put away behind serial killer-proof plexiglass. He’s guilty of heinous activity…or he’s gay…but that’s another story.
My poor offspring. This defect appears to be of the genetic variety. This became apparent when my nine year old daughter brought me the American Killers DVD and asked, “Mom. Who are all these cute guys on the front?”
Someday I hope to train myself to like the nice guy, or at least to recognize the nice guy. I realize that I’m not completely hopeless. I’ve never gone to the movies with someone named Ted. I never dreamt of Heidnik, Hitler, Dahmer, or Berkowitz. But I did have a fleeting sexual thing for George Herbert Walker Bush, because I knew that I shouldn’t. And I admit it. So who knows?