My wife talks to the TV. My wife is an intelligent woman. She is a Ph.D. She has taught at Ohio State, West Virginia University and Georgia State University. But she talks to the television and gives the characters advice. I’m sitting there with my TV Ears on just trying to hear. Years of shooting guns and flying noisy airplanes before anyone knew about ear protectors has made me mostly deaf. In spite of those buds in my ears, I can still hear my wife over the TV sound.
She says things like, “Don’t open that door!” “It’s not him, it’s the other guy who is the serial killer!” “Stay out of your apartment, he’s in there!” “Don’t marry him, he is a killer!” “That gun is not empty; there is one more bullet in the chamber!”
She has become an expert on CSI activities. When the actors are inspecting the apartment my wife tells them, “Use Luminol, you fools. That carpet is soaked with blood, you just can’t see it. And if you lift the corner you’ll find blood under there.”
She finds it difficult for so-called detectives not to see the obvious. “Take a look at his eyes, you dolts. Anybody can see he is a killer.”
She can easily tell the difference between suicide and murder. “There’s no chair there, you idiots. How did he hang himself?” “Carbon monoxide? I don’t think so, dumbbells. That garage door is OPEN!”
She is a proponent of DNA. “Follow him you nuts, pick up that cigarette butt!” “Okay, so he killed those women twenty years ago. Now you have DNA, use it, you dunces!”
I have tried to advise her that the actors have to follow the script, and they can do that without her assistance, but she can’t resist giving them the benefit of her criminal investigative talents. What really gets her dander up is when she KNOWS who the crook is – and the screen comes up with “To be Continued.” And she has to wait until next week for the detectives to catch up with her.