Thank you for being you.
And by "being you," of course I mean, being people who know about Jeffrey Dahmer and John Wayne Gacy and BTK and Ted Bundy, and don't mind discussing the gory details over plates of nachos, grande burritos and chicken enchiladas.
Thank you for the extended discussion of Ted Bundy.
I admit, I had been feeling somewhat exhausted from the day's activities and the night's reading, and when I heard his name I perked up, like a child who has been promised a soft-serve ice cream cone for being on her best behavior.
"Ted Bundy just seemed so normal," you lamented.
"And handsome," you added, sadly.
Thank you for the moment of silence, in which we must all have been thinking: What a waste.
I remember seeing a made-for-TV movie with Mark Harmon as Ted Bundy. I think it may have been my first serial killer movie, and I watched it with a pillow half-blocking my face. I was 10 years old at the time. (If you are interested, it makes a great late-night movie, and I'm also happy to share my recipe for kettle corn.)
Thank you for not even noticing when the people at the next table exchanged worried glances and eventually moved to the front of the restaurant.
All in all, it was a lovely evening.
Your sick friend
Paula Treick DeBoard