The Perks of Being Well-Read

“I’d love to trust, but my paranoia just won’t let me! Or maybe I just read too many Agatha Christie novels growing up…”

I’ve actually read them all, but I don’t share that with him.

“Anyhow,” I clear my throat, “yesterday for example this guy friends me on Facebook, but there is something hinky about the profile he has… don’t feel right… and I go full internet stalker – google his name, do an image search, whatever… Cause in the back of my mind I’m sure it’s some ex trolling me.”

“Why do you think that?” he asks in neutral tone and adjusts his horn-rimmed glasses.

I feel like a bug on display and desperately try not to fidget. “Um, seems too perfect, tailor-made for my tastes. And I know there are no such men. Those exist only in my imagination. It’s one thing to write fantasy, but to believe in fairy tales is an entirely different kind of crazy, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, yes,” doctor Levi, my psychiatrist, not psychologist mind you, nods his head, busily writing in his little notepad.

“What are you scribbling there, Doc?” I ask suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says with a mild smile. You know the one – part benevolence, part condescension.

I’d love to believe him, but I just cannot. My paranoia won’t let me.