My father and I play this… game… in which we both pretend to be attempting to assassinate each other. When we serve the other food or drink, we’ll adopt the most suspicious mannerisms and wording possible, as though the food were secretly poisoned and we are eagerly waiting for them to eat it and die.
The other player pretends that they know their food is poisoned, but must feign ignorance and try to come up with subtle excuses not to eat/drink it without seeming rude or directly confronting the other about the attempted kinslaying.
Wholesome family bonding.
Last night my father brought me “a nice tall glass of ice water” and stood there watching me closely as I sipped it. I pretended to swallow, at which point he threw his head back and laughed maniacally.
While he was laughing, I spit the entire mouthful of water that I’d been holding in my mouth onto his shirt, patted my chest, and said, “Oh, dear, Father; I’m afraid this water was just too cold. I need to let it warm up. Why don’t I make us some… tea.”
Another thing we do is imply that we have set lethal traps for each other.
“Goodnight Father,” I’ll tell him (because Father with a capital F is the most sinister and threatening thing you can call your dad). “I hope you sleep well tonight. Very well. It would be a shame if something… disturbed you.“ In response, he’ll make an offhand remark about needing to Google the upper age limit for sudden infant death syndrome, or he’ll bring up my “inheritance” and the possibility that he might have worthy bastard children somewhere.
My mother does not like our game.
