They’ll make me a real detective after this, right?

In completely uninteresting news, today is my birthday.
Aside from being fully aware that no one besides my parents actually cares, I also can attest that there is absolutely nothing notable about turning 45. Except, perhaps, the swiftness with which the last several decades have gone by.
But despite my directive to ignore the milestone altogether, Dan insisted on presents. And, I must say, he managed to give me the one thing I’ve wanted most in the world.
He made me Olivia Benson.
At least, sort of.
To know me even a little is be well-acquainted with my love of true crime stuff. Certainly, the obsession has been documented exhaustively in this column, and in my Facebook status updates, 85 percent of which are me freaking out over whatever murderino show I’m watching at the moment. (The other 15 percent are about “Catfish,” my other, far more inexplicable preoccupation.)
So, after my parents announced they would pay for me to have my house cleaned top to bottom for my birthday (I work so much, I feel like I never get caught up), Dan was left wondering what else to gift this rather-hard-to-buy-for old girl.
Then, as he tells it, fate stepped in, and he happened upon an online ad for the Hunt A Killer subscription box.
Personally, I think it was because our phones are constantly spying on us and his heard me watching ID channel, but sure, OK, fate too.
Whatever forces were at work, I have to say I’m pretty excited about it.
If you haven’t heard of Hunt A Killer, it operates in the same vein as all subscription box services in that, once a month, a package is delivered to your door containing a collection of items selected for you.
In this case, that collection includes a police report, a couple clues, witness statements, a suspect list, a letter from the chief investigator asking for my help, the victim’s 1993 yearbook, a notebook in which to detail in findings, and a handy little pin that identifies me as a member of the Hunt A Killer fact-finding team.
After perusing the materials, I discovered I’ve been tasked with solving the murder of a well-known Chestnut Falls pharmacist, Charles MacDonagh. McDonagh, it seems, went to high school with the PI the cops have brought on, and there is hope the combination of my impressive skills and much-needed objectivity can bring this homicide to a close.
“I remember him as a kind person, always surrounded by the same tight-knit group of friends who called themselves the ‘Hacky Pack.’ Unfortunately, they are now our prime suspects,” the letter reads. “With your help, there’s a chance I’ll finally get a good night’s sleep.”
It’s on, people.
Time to make Mariska proud.
Now, if someone would just send Elliott Stabler my way, this birthday might get interesting after all.
DUN DUN.

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