If you want to feel like a paranoid detective, vacillating between despair, outrage, and downright morbid terror, watch Broadchurch. Despite my glowing summation, I promise you it is the best show I’ve watched in ages. Season 1 is only eight episodes, and you will devour them like a half-starved bloodhound. (But seriously, a horrifying plot – a murder mystery surrounding the death of an 11-year old boy – that might make it hard to sleep at night. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)
All that to say, I’ve had morbidity on the brain.
So today when I was speaking to a Minneapolitan realtor about the neighborhood in which I’m buying a house (the lovely Bryn Mawr) and he told me it was a “hide-a-man area,” I froze.
“What do you mean, ‘hide-a-man’?” I asked. “Have they seriously found bodies here?”
He blinked. And then,
“I said ‘high demand.’”
Winning people over right and left!