Dear Mr. Cop Hiding Behind the Bushes or Why I Should Have Been a Serial Killer

disclaimer: this is for entertainment purposes only. I have never displayed any of the tell-tale signs that suggest someone is likely to grow up to be a serial killer. For example, I have never hurt a small animal. In fact, I once saved a one-winged pigeon from my swimming pool (which my dog had bit off in one of his lesser moments) and tried to nurse it back to health for a week, despite the snickering from family and friends. Henry's eventual death, by the way, nearly killed me.

Dear Mr. Cop Hiding Behind the Bushes:

You don't remember me, but I remember you. Fairmount Blvd. The 20 mph zone. That bend by the church. Just. Past. Sunset.

I was the tall blonde driving the car you chased after having jumped out of the bushes brandishing that big radar gun of yours (twice). I must say that I'm somewhat flattered. You have displayed a kind of diligent concern for and devotion to my safety hitherto unmatched by any of my previous male suitors.

If you weren't always wearing that ridiculous pseudo-Columbian guerilla camo outfit while skulking about the manicured lawns, I might actually consider dating you. I mean, you wouldn't have to spend much time getting to know my friends: you've already met several of them at our little rendezvous spot (if I was a jealous woman, I might take issue with this, you bad boy). But the fact that my friends currently hate you wouldn't worry me. I'm sure that over time they, too, could forgive you the fact that you have thwarted several of their well-planned trips to Whole Foods and a Disney vacation here and there for the kids with your generosity when it comes to handing out speeding tickets.

Well, I have enclosed for you yet another $95.00 check, and being the good sport that I am, I'd like to express my concern for your safety as well. One of these days YOU ARE GOING TO GET HIT--as in vehicular homicide. Of course, let's be honest. There would be some benefit to this: I could finally make Louboutin happy and buy those shoes I've been saving my discretionary money for FOR LIKE FIVE YEARS, and you would no longer be mistaken for a lost and missing trick or treater. Nor would you be punched again by our less inhibited Cleveland motorists. And the hate mail would stop, too.

I have a point here, Romeo.

Given the crime rate in Cleveland, I think you could be spending your time elsewhere. Like, say, oh I don't know, finding Mr. Sowell the Serial Killer BEFORE he buried 11 women in the walls of his house. Word is that Mr. Sowell has been at it since 1989. And you, Mr. Cop Hiding Behind the Bushes, are participating in the equivalent of speed dating with women drivers in Cleveland Heights. Very poor form, Mr. Cop Hiding Behind the Bushes.

Had I been a serial killer in Cleveland, at least I'd have the shoes.

m.

P.S. one of the priests over at the church even cut down the bushes after his parishoners started complaining about your little Rambo antics and stopped attending services. It's one thing to mess with a girl's footwear or a child's love for Tinker Belle. I don't think you need me to tell you that it's quite another to mess with the Big Guy. In this regard, I've got to tell you-- you're playing with fire. The super long eternal kind...