He's hilarious, my husband.

But I thought about his little joke as I watched the Rev. Melvin "She-had-a-toothache" Bynum shuffling into a Richmond County courtroom last week, charged with strangling his wife and stuffing her body into the trunk of her own convertible.

According to police, Bynum had been seeking a divorce from 40-year-old Marnita Bynum. In the end, they contend, the right reverend bypassed the ink pen and went straight for the tire tool.

Have you noticed how many men take this shortcut?

There are the accused: Robert Petrick of Durham, charged with murdering his wife, Janine Sutphen, the cellist. The infamous Scott Peterson in California. Most recently, Bynum.

And there are the convicted: William Boychuk, whose wife was four months pregnant when she was pushed from a bridge in Cary and bludgeoned. Ian Aulden Campbell, whose fiancee was strangled with a towel. Michael "I-knew-I-shoulda-bought-a-ranch-house" Peterson -- whose wife Kathleen was found dead in their mansion at the bottom of a flight of stairs. All are serving life sentences.

But that is little comfort to the women (and, yes, a few arsenic-addled men) who wound up dead instead of divorced.

So, as a member of the sex most likely to end up playing spoons with a car jack, I decided to work on assessing the danger in my own home.

First I went to the folks at Interact, an agency that assists victims of domestic violence. They told me that normally the men who kill their wives are the despicable sort whose controlling behavior escalates from verbal abuse to the physical.

But what about those rare slow-burners who simply explode one day?

What about the seemingly gentle sorts like ... Harry?

I don't think he has a violent bone in his body. And surely, as a lawyer, he knows that the only thing murder is a shortcut to is life in the pen.

Or the sleepy needle.

Still, I'm not always the easiest person to live with. And, knowing that men sometimes need to have things spelled out for them, I decided to have a chat with Harry.

Just in case.

Look, I said, I know you're joking about trading me in for two 20s, but if you do manage to find someone else to put up with you, it's fine. Just go.

If at some point you need to take some time to find yourself, go ahead. Short on cash? Take the credit card.

If you just get sick of my ranting about politics and my carping about household chores, no problem.

Dump me. Break my heart. File for divorce and leave me penniless.

Just don't kill me. OK?

Remember, I may be barreling toward 40 in a minivan -- a full-fledged soccer mom with crow's feet and a smart mouth.

But unlike Kathleen Peterson, I don't have a $1.4 million insurance policy. I don't even have a convertible -- or a stellar reputation -- like poor Marnita Bynum.

In fact, the only insurance policy I have is this: A Honda minivan doesn't have a trunk.