Confession: people in my family LOVE true crime shows. And by people in my family I mean my brother Andrew. He watches them all: Snapped, Dateline, The First 48, I Survived . . . you name it, his sick mind enjoys it.

The thing is, his taste (if you can call it that) has rubbed off on me. I record 48 Hours Mystery on my DVR, but my rule is that I will never watch them at night, only on weekends when it is sunny outside. But last night I just had a craving to watch devious people do really bad things, so I watched the 48 Hours Mystery from 4/28 about Jeffrey Locker, a white motivational speaker from an upscale town in Long Island who drove into Harlem and allegedly paid a black man to stab him to death. Ouch is right.

I had followed this case in the New York Post since Locker was found dead in his car in July 2009. At first it looked like a robbery gone wrong, and then as details unfolded it was evident that Locker was on a suicide mission.

I’m no crime reporter so I’m not going to write out the deets of the case. Plus I don’t want to get another nightmare! My point is, I had to watch my beloved Golden Girls before I went to bed. I chose to view the episode where Blanche is dating a really rich man who has two young kids while Rose and Dorothy try to install a toilet. Oh how I laughed! And then when I went to bed, visions of a geyser erupting from my toilet, Bellagio-fountain style, to the tune of “Time to Say Goodbye” by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman, danced in my head.

Murder is just way too uncool for bedtime.