Narration from 'Dateline' reporter Keith Morrison would make my life more dramatic

Apr. 8—As I have for the past few weeks — ever since Mandy and I began watching old episodes of "Dateline" regularly — I awoke to the dulcet tones of Keith Morrison's narration:

"It was a quiet Tuesday morning in the burgeoning city of Tupelo, Mississippi. It's a relatively quiet burg, a city with a nightlife ... sure. Plenty to do for those inclined to find it, but spared the hectic bustle of larger metropolitan areas."

I pulled my pillow over my head and tried to block out the voice, but it was no good. As he does, the longtime reporter for NBC's popular true crime program was determined to drone on and on about my day in a dramatic, slightly verbose way.

"Adam Armour didn't exactly greet the new day with enthusiasm. He rarely did these days. Work was frequently exhausting — early mornings and late nights. His 6-year-old fought tooth-and-nail against her bedtime, and more and more often, Adam found himself enjoying a few too many beers before calling it a night. It was a routine he wasn't exactly eager to start all over again ..."

Morrison paused his narration, just for a moment.

"There's a twist coming, isn't there?" I yelled into my sheets.

"... If only the 42-year-old loving husband and doting father had known what was coming," Morrison said, his tone shifting to one of playful foreboding. "If he had, he might have stayed right there, nestled safely in his cozy bed."

I threw the pillow off of my head and sat up.

"What's that supposed to mean, huh?" I asked the ceiling. That's where omniscient narration comes from, right?

Morrison went right on describing what I was going to do seconds before I could do it.

"But first, despite his antipathy toward facing another grueling workday, Adam reluctantly crawled from his bed ..."

"Not if you keep that up, I won't," I said.

"... and made the first of many trips to his favorite room in his house or any other building — the bathroom."

"Oh, come on!" I said as I stood in front of the toilet. "You've been reporting since, what? The '60s? Your pelvic floor has got to have the strength of soggy newsprint these days. I bet you live half your life watering porcelain."

"Shaking free the final few drops, he reached for his toothbrush, completely neglecting — as he so often did — to wash his hands ..."

With a huff, I turned the water on at the sink and pumped a few dollops of liquid soap into the palm of my hand. I scrubbed with some ferocity.

"Happy, Keith?"

"... But this was no normal day."

"I swear, I'm calling into work," I said, shoving my toothbrush into my mouth. Then you'll have nothing to narrate about but how blissful I seem to be while not listening to you foreshadow unspecified disaster."

"His halfhearted attempt at dental hygiene complete, Adam made his way to the kitchen to fix the first of many cups of coffee he'd drink that day ... a small pleasure in a day that had too few, and a likely source for his frequent bladder issues."

"Are you back on that again?" I asked as I sipped from my cup while staring through the kitchen window into the sun-dabbled world beyond.

A woman wearing AirPods was walking her dog, practically dancing as she passed my house. She seemed so happy.

"As he stared at the woman ... so much younger, healthier, happier than he ever remembered being ... Adam couldn't help but taste sour envy as it roiled at the back of his throat." A razor-honed tinge of sorrow had crept into Morrison's voice. "Had he ever been like her? Perhaps. Once upon a time, when there was so much life ahead of him.

"Back then, there was a lot to do, but there was plenty of time to do it. Now, only one of those statements was true."

I poured the dregs of coffee into the sink, rinsed my mouth with water and grabbed my gear for the workday.

"You know, Keith," I told the empty kitchen as I headed out the door, "I'm going to have a great freaking day, despite what you have to say about it. Maybe it'll be the same as every other. Maybe it will be a total disaster. I'll take either in stride. Narrate your thoughts on that while I'm gone."

I slammed the door. Behind me, muffled slightly but still clear, Morrison droned on.

"A nice sentiment, but ..."

I left before I could hear the rest.

ADAM ARMOUR is the news editor for the Daily Journal and former general manager of The Itawamba County Times. You may reach him via his Twitter handle, @admarmr.