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.

 

 

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