The Serial Killer Next Door….
“Honey, I’m home!” I announced when I returned home from the gym last evening.
My husband, Clark Griswold, and I have been married for six years and together for eight. Somewhere along the way, we developed a habit of greeting one another at the door, so I was ready with a big smile when he came around the corner.
“Whoa!” He exclaimed, pausing his approach with a mix of concern and possibly fear? on his face. “Why do you have a butcher knife?”
I smiled, angelically. “Oh, it’s for Bob.”
Clark, clearly confused: “He’s borrowing a butcher knife?”
Me: “No. I mean, it’s for Bob as in….its possible I might need to stab him at some point.”
Clark, still confused: “Why would you ever need to stab Bob?”
Me, clearly exasperated: “Ugh, because he’s a serial killer….we’ve talked about this.
To be fair, this is kind of a regular accusation I make. It’s not unusual for me to spot a stranger and say, “That guy looks like a serial killer. I bet he has a body or two in his trunk right now.”
In addition, I have silently and not so silently, accused almost everyone I know, from co-workers, to family, friends and boyfriends of conspiring to kill me and/or at least thinking about conspiring to kill me at one time or another.
Where does this come from? The hell if I know….though I did once have a physic medium tell me I had a very traumatic past life….so that’s probably it.