Dear Kimberly,
Over the years that I have known you, I have been able to observe your behavior in a myriad of situations. Little did you know that I have been cataloging this information for later use, and have come to an alarming conclusion. You are either a serial killer or insane. Probably both.
I come to this conclusion because it is the most likely explanation for your actions, particularly those concerning me. For instance, no matter how often I forget to accomplish the most simplistic task (wash the dishes, bathe the dogs, eat lunch) you always forgive me and help me complete said task.
In addition, you often tell me, in many different ways, that I am attractive. We all know this is a bald-faced lie, especially when you take into consideration the fact that I have spent a grand total of seven minutes in my entire life attempting to be attractive, and all of those took place before we were even married. You told me I was handsome a few mornings ago, and I was not. I know this, because it was 7:00 on a Monday morning, and I was up until 3 the night before. My hair held a remarkable resemblance to that of Jim Varney, and my eyes were completely crusted over, to the point I had to open them with my fingers.
Initially, I thought you were simply mocking me, but you always sound so earnest that I am forced to attribute said comments to an ulterior motive (such as a desire to see me stuffed and mounted on the wall) or a clear lapse in sanity.
Another example of your nefarious plotting can be found in your love of special occasions, such as my birthday and our anniversary. I am the worst special-day-rememberer in the world. I forget my own birthday most of the time, and I have forgotten nearly every special occasion the entire time we have been together. Most wives yell and scream if they don’t get a “Happy Ramadan” card, but you barely even mentioned it when I forgot your birthday. You even put up with my pitiful “making up for it” ceremony, involving about a month of “Happy seventeen days after your birthday”, etc.
Again, Occam and his teaching lead me to believe you have some devious plot to sell my internal organs on Ebay. Why else would you react to my thoughtlessness in such a way?
Finally, I cite the final reason I believe you may be a deranged psychopath: you cook and clean for me, even though I HAVE NEVER ASKED YOU TO DO SO! What is wrong with you?!? What type of sick individual takes time out of her already busy day to prepare meals for someone who would be content to eat ramen noodles every day? Or do laundry for a person who is completely happy to wear the same thing four days in a row? Granted, the laundry thing might be slightly motivated by self-preservation, because you would also have to live with my stench, but that can’t be the only reason.
I am writing this to let you know that I’ve figured out your scheme. To be honest, it wasn’t that hard. You were too perfect! You might have gotten away with it if you yelled once in a while, or nagged a little. You should have been less witty and engaging! It must be a farce, because no one is so utterly perfect all the time!
I’m watching you. This behavior had better stop, or I will be forced to alert the FBI.
(idea from Hyperbole and a Half)
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