Doctor at work: That’s a great painting! (points to a mildly creepy portrait of a crudely painted, abstract looking man in vivid colours that a psychiatrist left when she moved out of our clinic)
Me: I know, right? You and I are the only ones who like it. Although I’m half charmed by it, half terrified of it.
Doctor: What! Why’s that? Are you taking it home?
Me: I thought about it! But I feel like, this is how a horror movie starts out – I take home a portrait I found in an old psychiatrist’s room, it’s a little weird looking, and before I know it things start to go wrong in my life and SUDDENLY I’m possessed by the spirit of a maligned patient.
Doctor: Well, you’re not wrong. They do do that.
Me: And you’re a Doctor, so you would know.
Doctor: No, it’s true. If a patient comes here for a long time and doesn’t get better, we put them into paintings.
Doctor: So you know… please, take him home!
I laughed so hard, I was crying. People were giving me concerned looks. I had to excuse myself.
Still not taking that painting home, though.