Why My Perfect Friday Night Involves a Bottle of Wine and Some Dateline

The truth about closing in on 40 and relishing a night in involving Pinot Grigio and the sweet sound of Keith Morrison's voice telling me a tragic tale on NBC's Dateline, is it's a lot more common than one might think. It's not that the stereotypes of women over thirty in yoga pants and a messy bun, clutching a bottle of wine while they watch other people's lives fall apart are sort of accurate. It's that they are dead on and I for one will not make excuses for it.

It's Friday night when I slip into an outfit that is equally appropriate for a quick trip to the corner store, if need be, and for going to bed. It's mostly black. There a little pops of colour, however; dog hair here and a spaghetti stain there. I settle into my chair and prepare to escape.

The kids are asleep. Well, one of them may still be calling out for glass of water or an extra kiss goodnight but these things are manageable with the pause button at the ready.

Dateline has begun and the wine is poured. Keith Morrison or Lester Holt (acceptable but not ideal) begins to tell the story of how one 'date turned deadly' or 'how M stood for Murder in this small Massachusetts town' and I'm all in. In like a kid watching Paw Patrol.

Why does the destruction of someone's life played out on the small screen appeal to me so much? I know it seems disturbing. After considering this I've come to two conclusions regarding my penchant for all things murder.

First of all, if it is happening or has happened to them, than there is far less chance it can happen to me. This little law of averages works in my head, so let it be. It's kind of like hearing about a tragedy close to you. For a moment you are grateful that the Fates let you be and chose someone else. Surely, it could not happen to you as well, because that would be too bizarre. You know you do it, too.

Secondly, in order to forget my own problems, be they First World, or not, I enjoy being distracted by the far worse problems of other people who, for whatever reason, saw fit to share their story of mayhem on network television.

The formula works so I don't ask questions and you shouldn't either. So, if you're not doing anything this weekend. Grab a bottle and settle in because Keith Morrison has a deadly tale to tell.