All of our stories, starting with the newest!
(The setting is a physics class exclusively about the propagation of electromagnetic (specifically, radio) waves.)
Professor: “So far we’ve discussed the properties of EM waves quite a bit, but we haven’t actually generated any.”
Student: “Oh, no, sir. I’ve been running my wi-fi the whole time.”
(I am a 16-year old boy, 6’2″ but with rather androgynous facial features and relatively long, messy hair. I also have a gender-neutral name. On this particular day, I am asked to give two prospective parents (in their early 40s) and their daughter (13/14) a tour of the school. We are in an English classroom where a teacher is teaching a Year 8 class.)
Mother: “What books do you study at [School]?”
Me: “Me personally, I’ve studied To Kill A Mockingbird, Of Mice and Men, The War of the Worlds, The Crucible—”
Father: *cuts me off* “Of all the sports they could show you books of, they show you a book about snooker.” *looks at me in disbelief* “Couldn’t they at least make you read Escape to Victory?”
Me: *a little bit stunned* “Was Escape to Victory based on a book?” *it may well have been; I genuinely wasn’t sure* “And The Crucible isn’t about snooker. It’s about people being terrified of the prospect of witches.”
Daughter: “Aren’t the witches good, like in Harry Potter?”
Me: “I’m not going to spoil it for you, since you might read it.” *to the parents* “They made a film of it in the 90s with Daniel Day-Lewis and Winona Ryder in it. It’s very good.”
Daughter: “Do you read Twilight in English?”
Me: “No, but I’ve read it. Edward or Jacob?”
Daughter: *starts giggling* “Jacob, of course. You?”
Me: “I’m not really a fan, I just read them when the movies were coming out; I was curious. You like Hunger Games?”
Daughter: “YEAH!” *daughter does the three-fingered salute*
(I turn around to realise that the teacher is glaring at me and none of the class are doing the work.)
Me: “I’m sorry, Miss… We’ll leave now.”
Teacher: “It’s fine, [My Name]…”
(While we are walking down the corridor, my girlfriend comes over.)
Girlfriend: “Hey, [My Name]…”
Me: “You off to the doctors?” *to my charges* “This is my girlfriend, [Girlfriend].”
Girlfriend: *nods* “I can’t stay long, appointment in 10.”
(She gives me a quick kiss before leaving; the parents both are awkward around me for the rest of the tour. Later, I say goodbye to them and hand them over to one of the deputy heads. I overhear them saying the following as I walk to class.)
Mother: “Did you know that the otherwise lovely girl you had take us on a tour is a lesbian?”
Daughter: “Mum…”
Deputy Head: “I’m sorry?”
Mother: “The really tall pretty girl, [My Name]. She’s a lesbian. Has an equally tall girlfriend called [Girlfriend]. I assume you didn’t know?”
Father: “Do you really think that’s appropriate for a school?”
Mother: “They kissed.”
Deputy Head: *starts laughing* “[My Name] is a lovely young MAN. And we don’t try to discourage relationships; it’s healthy regardless of sexual orientation.”
Father: *speechless*
Mother: “But he knew about the Twilight!”
(One weekend when I am six years old our family has a female working colleague of my father’s staying with us as a guest, and on Sunday we all have an outing to our rented caravan. On Monday I come home from school as usual.)
Mum: “What did you do at school today?”
Me: “We had to write what we did at the weekend.”
Mum: “Did you write about going to the caravan with Judith?”
Me: “Yes.”
Mum: “Very good. Well done.”
(The following day my father took me to school as usual and noticed that some of the teachers were giving him odd looks. But he thought little of it until a few weeks later when he read my class exercise book and spotted the following entry, marked by the teacher with a tick but no comment:)
Book: “Monday, 11 June. My weekend. Daddy took his friend called Judith to our caravan.”
Related:
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 10
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 9
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 8
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 7
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 6
(My girlfriend gets a nasty cut in the webbing between her fingers from some broken glass, and she really should’ve gotten stitches, but her mom (who never actually saw the cut) tells her she is just overreacting and doesn’t need to go. By the time she goes to a clinic it is too late. Stitches would lead to an infection, so we have to just wait for it to heal on its own. The cut also aggravates her psoriasis, causing a massive breakout on her palms. For these reasons, I have taken over all dishwashing duties and miscellaneous chores so she can heal. However, I am notorious for HATING dishes and put them off far too long for her liking. The sink has been full for about a day or so.)
Girlfriend: “Those dishes really need doing.”
Me: “Nnggrrrrr….”
Girlfriend: “They’re starting to pile up…”
Me: “Mrrrrrr…”
Girlfriend: “They’re starting to call out for you. Hear them? They’re going, [My Name]! [My Name]!”
Me: *clasping my hands and speaking in an overly sweet tone* “Now, sweetie, when the dishes start talking to you… When was the last time you took your meds?”
Girlfriend: “Oh, no, see, they’re not talking to ME. They’re talking to YOU!”
Me: “Ah, yes, but YOU’RE the one who’s hearing them!”
(I live in Ohio while my boyfriend lives in Washington. Because we do the whole long distance thing, we’re always on Skype or texting. I am really sick.)
Me: “I need you to fly here and bring me soup and cuddles.”
Boyfriend: “Well I can bring the cuddles but I won’t bring soup!”
Me: “That’s messed up! I was using you for your soup! Forget you!”
Boyfriend: “I love you too, babe!”
Me: “I love you too… but I still want soup…”
