Don't talk to strangers

I think at some point in her life, almost every woman on the planet has uttered the words, "I have such bad luck with men," usually after unearthing the inevitable closet-skeletons of a seemingly perfect potential mate.

We've all been there, we've all said it, but for most of us, it's not so much bad luck as it is allowing infatuation and lust to cloud our judgement.

And then there's this cautionary tale:

I have a friend (whom I'll refer to as "Jane"). She's actually very dear friends with my roommate, but I've met her on several occasions, talk to her on the phone periodically, and overall, find her to be a lovely, warm, engaging person. She's very outgoing, terribly sincere and a generous friend.

The weekend before last, Jane was supposed to go on a roadtrip with my roommate, to visit an old friend. At the last minute (the very day they were supposed to leave), Jane phones to say she had met a man the previous evening (whom we'll call "Dick"), was quite taken with him, and seeing as he was only in town on vacation for a week, had decided she wanted to stay in town to go out with him.

Needless to say, my roommate was a tad irked, but she let it go. Jane mentioned that it had been a long time since someone had taken her out on a "real" date, and she was very excited about getting to know Dick better.

Fast forward about 10 days later, and Jane has now spent every day (and night) with this man whom she had just met. He extended his stay in town for a few days, and was staying with her in her home; they dined out, they attended a music festival, they chatted away for hours at a time, often into the wee hours of the morning. According to Jane, he was handsome, friendly, charming and just plain nice. At this point, all was well with the world.

That is until his face, and a description of his (heinous) crimes committed in another state, appeared on a television show. A neighbor of Jane's recognized the car in her driveway, and called the police.

In the wee hours of Sunday morning, Jane's home was raided by 20 law enforcement officers. The commotion roused Dick and Jane from their sleep, but once Dick became coherent, he leaped across the bed, reached into his suitcase, and shot himself in the head, killing himself instantly.

Jane screamed in horror, as her dogs barked, cops shouted, and a man lie dead, in a crumpled heap on her bedroom floor.

The rest of the story is but a blur, and is of no relevance here. I will say Jane is alive and well today, though still reeling from the shock of the events of that morning.

I do need to mention that this story, though abbreviated and void of great detail, is 100% true. I have avoided mentioning the names, the locations, and the crimes, simply out of respect for those involved (not to mention the fact that all of these details have been broadcast not only in the local papers and news outlets, but at the National level).

The reason I am sharing this story is more as a word of caution. You just never know who that man (or woman) across the bar is. They may be a Good Samaritan, or they may have brutally taken an innocent life. You just never know.

Just be careful out there.


Now playing: "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" is on in the background somewhere....