The idea that the surviving Boston Bombing suspect must be innocent because he is "too beautiful" suggests that some girls take "not rooted in reality" to an extreme.
I have been pondering my high school days recently, and I am so glad that when I was a teenager, there were fewer ways to preserve evidence of the weird blips of one's juvenile brain. There was no texting, no tweeting, no blogging, no Facebook, no camera phones and very few tattoos for women. The worst you could do was write embarrassing letters, which could possibly be photocopied, but not sent to all the world with the touch of a button. To unburden one's teenage heart of its agonies and obsessions, one kept a diary. I still have all of mine, but if, in a storm of adolescent brain misfirings, I developed a crush on a suspected terrorist, no-one but me shall ever know.
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