My husband talks about golf a lot. I mean a whole lot. He loves to relive his best shots, longest drives, and close-to-hole-in-one tee shots over and over and over again. I talk a lot about my horses. I talk about them a whole lot. I like to describe to anyone and everyone how pretty they look when they run freely through their pasture, how sweet their knickers are when I enter the barn and how soft their silky coats are. Folks call my husband an avid golfer who enjoys sharing fun memories of his hobby. Folks call me a woman who perseverates too much on her obsessive interest.

Did you read any hypocrisy in that description? I hope so because it's there loud and clear. Why is my husband given a golden pass to dialogue about a little white dimpled ball and a long stick, as if it's a talk as interesting as the solution to world hunger, while I'm told I should really try hard not to talk about my horses so much because such talk is boring to the listener. Say what? Who gets to decide what's interesting and what's boring conversation? Is there a secret communications police I don't know about? Is there a group that monitors content interest levels according to some secret set of criteria only neurotypicals are privy too?