I could never get into the tv show Dexter.

 
What I mean by that is I couldn’t get through the opening credits without fainting. I once walked into the room when Greg was watching a taped copy and the first thing he said was, “Liz, close your eyes, you are not going to like this.”

 
It was the equivalent of someone handing you a moldy piece of garbage and saying, “Oh my God, smell this it’s disgusting.” And then you do and you kick yourself but it’s too late because now your nostril hairs are singed, you are scarred for life and you will never be able to eat another moldy piece of garbage again.

 
I saw a close-up of Dexter’s opening credits where he was shaving and blood spatter hit the mirror and my legs gave out.

 
Yesterday on a class trip to a local theatre with my daughter’s grade six class, Dexter was the furthest thing from my mind.

 
We arrived early to get settled into our seats to prepare for a morning of Celtic music-any given Wednesday.

 
Then I heard, “Oh, he’s got a nose bleed” and I turned slowly to watch the better part of ½ pint of blood drip onto my coat collar.

 
After I fainted, I followed the blood trail to the bathroom to give my coat a quick dusting, thankful I wasn’t a teacher friend of mine who had told me she had a student defecate in their sink just one day earlier. Ah perspective.

 
I stood for a minute to clear my blurred vision before giving myself the Stuart Smalley daily affirmations, “You’re good enough, you’re smart enough and doggone it, people like you” and headed back to my seat.

 
But people clearly didn’t like me. The band had encouraged the kids to stand up and do some form of Celtic-interpretive dance (what could possibly go wrong?) when I was punched in the back of the head by another student from my daughter’s class.

 
This was Dexter. I was at a live taping of Dexter and nobody told me. The blood, the punching, the Celtic sing-a-long.

 
Just waiting for a razor and a mirror.