Not all that recent, actually, but a real conversation nonetheless.
Me: I have a theory.
Him: " " (Grunts, his spoon halfway to his mouth, hovering precariously above his crossword puzzle. He doesn’t look up.)
Me: I have a theory. I think that…you suffer from Antisocial Personality Disorder.
Him: " " (Continuing to eat as if he hasn’t heard me.)
In the off chance that I’m wrong, this could cause a huge fight. Kind of like the time I asked him if he was sure he wasn’t gay (early, very early, in our relationship-I had to make sure, you know?). If I’m right, well, I suppose there’s the possibility I could set off the serial killer tendencies caused by Antisocial Personality Disorder.
Me: I mean, you have a lot in common with Dexter, the serial killer from the show I’ve been watching.”
I look up out of the corner of my eye to see how he’s taking this. Hmm, pretending not to listen. I continue with my evidence.
Me: High IQ, exasperation with illogical people, no interest in conforming, lack of empathy…
Him: " " (Heading into the kitchen to rinse out his cereal bowl.)
Me: Well, are you going to admit it?
Him: Admit what?
Me: That you’re a serial killer.
Him: I didn’t kill it, I just ate it.
Me: Not funny. You know what? I just found the fatal flaw in my theory. Supposedly serial killers have a great deal of charm.
Him: I am extremely charming.
Me: Ha! Not so’s I’d notice. So what do you think of my list? That’s an awful lot of characteristics that line up. Maybe you’re borderline antisocial.
Him: What list?
Me: What! Did you really not hear a word I just said? Antisocial Personality Disorder? Lack of empathy? Hello?
Him: If by lack of empathy you mean unwilling to give you attention every time you are being overdramatic—case in point, by the way—then yes, I must fit the profile that you developed based on a television show.
Me, calling down the hallway toward his retreating form: Well, it doesn’t make it any less accurate!