I am currently 7 months pregnant, so I’m eating more than I usually do for obvious reasons. I have an OB appointment this morning that my husband and I are about to go to, one in which I will be addressing something that’s been causing me a lot of anxiety.
I’ve also got a singular pop tart that I haven’t eaten yet. We get up to start getting ready, and I grab the pop tart.

Husband: Bringing that to-go?
Me: (pauses) …it’s my emotional support pop tart.

Client: “I want you to change my Facebook profile to a page.”

Me: “Okay. I’ll need your email login and password.”

The client sends me login information, but when I try to log in, no account information is found under that email address. I try another email I know she uses. That email is linked to her account, but the password is incorrect.

Me: “That email and password didn’t work. Do you have the correct password?”

Client: “I don’t know my password. I’m always logged in, so I don’t remember it. Please change my password to the one I just sent you.”

Me: “I can’t change anything until I log in. You can change your password if you log out and try to recover a new one.”

Client: “But if I log out, I’ll never be able to log back in again because I don’t know my password. Can’t you just change it?”

Client I did a 30-page site for, $500. As a charitable thing. Told her she MIGHT want to pay for the premium version of a plugin I use, for 5 spam emails they got in 8 months.

Client: I didn’t have to do all that with the old one. Never had that kind of emails. I don’t want this site costing me hundred of dollars [sic] for few that look at it.

Me: Do you want me to send you $500 back asap and call it good? I was trying to help. And I see now that I shouldn’t have.

Client: No no. I don’t want the money back. I just am trying to wrap my head around all the new things I have to sign up for. Pay for. Just to have website. Granted. My was outdated. But people still found it. I am grateful for your job and help.

Me: You do NOT “have” to pay for the premium thing I mentioned above. The free version will work ok. I am happy to refund all $500 anytime. Just let me know and I will do it immediately.

Client: (silence for an hour)

Me: If I give you back the $500 you will have spent $112 for a year on the biggest hosting plan and NO extra fee for registration privacy OR for https. And $15 a yr for the domain name which is standard everywhere. Total of $112 + $15 = $127 a year — not hundreds. Other hosts charge for both of those things I just mentioned (“SSL certificate” and “WHOIS privacy”) and a lot more for a much smaller hosting plan with hardly any bandwidth. Up to you. I can refund you *immediately* via Zelle. And then you only pay $127 a year for the site. How’s that?

Client: (silence for another hour)

Me: I can refund you the $500 very quickly via Zelle. (But, you may have to sign up for “Zelle” to accept the $500, which might be a hassle you don’t need). So, I can also *mail* you a $500 personal check which I would send out first thing tomorrow morning. Let me know which you prefer asap. Thank you.

Client: (silence ongoing to this day)

I end up needing an oral surgeon for a dental problem, and as it turns out, the office where my best friend works has an opening sooner that other offices. After I set up my appointment, she sends me the new patient paperwork and information on general anesthesia, which I’ll need for the procedure. I notice a funny statement in the paperwork: “Women who are undergoing sedation should avoid wearing eye makeup.” This despite the patient information forms asking for both preferred gender and gender assigned at birth (which can be relevant in medical settings). I take a picture and text it to my friend.

Me: Look, according to this sentence, apparently it’s fine for men to wear eye makeup while they’re knocked out.

Best friend: That’s because men have rights we don’t. Fight the patriarchy!

Me: I demand the right to wear mascara under sedation!

It’s three weeks before Christmas. I’m boarding a flight to Newark and hear pop music playing over the plane’s PA. As I’m passing the cockpit, I hear the pilot ask:

Pilot: “What’s the name of that Christmas song that’s offending everybody?”
Me: “‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’?”
Pilot: “‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside.’ Have we played that yet?”