I'll regret this later

I'm not sure how many of you have heard this story...and I'm sure I'm going to get mocked endlessly about this, but I just thought of it randomly and started laughing so I thought it would be worth sharing...because the humor that can be derived from this story is relatively more important than the amount of damage my ego will sustain by sharing it.

A while back (around March of 2010) I got a personal trainer. You guys have heard the beginning of this story and you're probably thinking "I remember this..." but I'm pretty sure you've never heard this next part.

So I got a personal trainer. He was roughly 5 years old, but he looked like Channing Tatum (and none of you ever met him, so you can't refute that statement). After a few weeks of sessions, he asked if I'd like to have lunch with him over the weekend. I agreed to it (what did I have to lose? answer: dignity), but we never ended up going to lunch. He made up a reason why, I believed it (see above re: loss of dignity), and he asked if he could make it up to me by cooking dinner for me at his apartment the next night.

In the course of our training sessions, he'd occasionally mention a roommate. So I was thinking to myself "Hmmm, chances he's trying to lure me to his apartment to murder me are significantly reduced by the fact that he has a roommate, so I'll go with it." (Shhhh, just let the story happen.) So I go to his apartment the next night, and lo and behold, it's a one bedroom apartment. When I asked about the mysterious, seemingly non-existent roommate, he told me that he'd moved to this new apartment within the last week. Add ten murder points.

So, with my chances of being murdered back at a higher level, I chose the chair right next to the door (subtract five murder points). Joe (the trainer) starts cooking dinner across the room in the kitchen. The door keeps making noises as if it's being opened (his accomplice, perhaps?), so he looks over his shoulder at me and asks me to throw the deadbolt on the door, at which point I was pretty sure my chances of being murdered were reaching 100%.

He's cooking chicken and cutting it up with this gigantic knife before he throws it in the pan, and as he's cooking he's telling me a story. For the sake of the story, at one point he walks over to me, knife in hand, and grabs one of my shoulders while gesturing with the knife in his other hand. At this point I legit thought about screaming and making a run for it...but clearly, he did not in fact murder me.

So I'm telling this story to my friend Heather the next day after she asks how it went and I tell her everything above, ending the story with "But luckily, he didn't murder me, and the chicken was pretty good."

Heather's response: "I'm unclear as to why you went alone to his apartment when you thought there was ANY chance, let alone a GOOD chance, that the night would end in your murder."