(I have never been a gamer because games make me dizzy. I am a fairly huge nerd, though, so I try to make a lot of references.)

Me: *headbutts* “Jenny used head-butt! Ben was confused!”

Boyfriend: “What?”

Me: *tackles* “Jenny used tackle! It was super-effective!”

Boyfriend: “What? Tackle is a normal attack; it can’t be super effective against anyone. And besides, head-butt can only make me flinch, it can’t confuse me.”

Me: *licks his nose* “Jenny used lick! Ben was paralyzed!” *giggles* “I’m going to lick you to death and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

Boyfriend: “…but paralysis doesn’t work every time. You’re bad at Pokémon and you should feel bad.”

(My dad and I are discussing our neighbours and get on to the subject of how well we know the layout of the house.)

Me: “Well, yeah, I should know too because I’ve been here as long as you have. We moved in when I was two.”

Dad: “Well, that’s what we told you. Actually, when we moved in you were hanging from the ceiling in a cocoon.”

Me: “A cocoon? Why don’t I have wings, then?”

Dad: “Well, your mum wanted to keep you. The condition was that she could keep you only if we had them docked.”

(My parents divorced when I was 2. Note that I was also very small and delicate as a child. This takes place when I am at a posh afternoon tea venue with my mum.)

Posh older ladies at a nearby table: *assuming I am shy* “Hello! Aren’t you a lucky girl coming here for afternoon tea? Did your daddy bring you as a special treat?”

Me: “Oh, no. I came with my mummy. My daddy was nasty to my mummy, so we got rid of him!”

(The older ladies were utterly shocked. My mum was dying of silent laughter.)

(At the campground where I work, two girls complain that someone has stolen their picnic table. So, I go out, find it, and help them drag it back to their site. When they check out, they write on our comment card that I was helpful and friendly.)

Me: *reading the comment card* “Oh, those nice lesbians gave me a positive comment!

Coworker: “How do you know those girls were lesbians? Just because they were camping together doesn’t mean they were! The could just be friends. You’re being rude!”

Me: “Well, seeing as one of them had a tattoo with intertwined female symbols, complained about being labeled as butch while we were moving the table, and kissed the other when she bought her ice cream, I’m gonna go with lesbians.”

(A client is calling to complain about a debt on his insurance policy.)

Customer: “…I know it’s not your fault. You’ve been understanding, but I have to say: the girl I spoke to this morning was awful! She said you were going to take money out of my bank account without my permission.”

(I begin scanning through all the notes since the inception of the policy.)

Me: “I’m not sure why anyone would advise you that, sir, because we don’t even have any facility to do that.”

Customer: “I didn’t know that, did I? She was rude, and abrasive, and she threatened me. I want her fired—”

(At this point, I come across the only note from today.)

Me: “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to interrupt you there. It was actually ME you spoke to this morning, and I said nothing at all about taking money from your account. I’ve got a written record of our conversation here, but if you’re insisting on taking the matter further, I can find a recording of the call to prove it to you, too.”

Customer: “Oh.” *hangs up*