(I am in social studies class with a teacher who is adamant about getting us involved in politics.)

Teacher: “Raise your hand if you’re voting in the election tomorrow.”

(A few students raise their hands, but I don’t.)

Teacher: “[My Name]! Why aren’t you voting? You’re old enough. You should go out and vote instead of sitting around on your butt watching TV and playing videogames! What kind of world am I leaving to you people? You can’t even be bothered to vote—”

Me: “I went to an advanced poll a week ago, sir.”

Teacher: “Oh…”

(I’m a big fan of Christmas music. I’m in bed with my boyfriend and can’t sleep. He is about to fall asleep. I start singing Christmas songs under my breath. It’s the last night of November.)

Me: “We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas—”

Boyfriend: “For goodness sake! It’s not even December yet.”

Me: “It will be if I keep singing for a couple more hours!”

(My boyfriend covers his head with a pillow. I stop singing, realizing that it’s bothering him. Then he gets out of bed and leaves the room. He comes back with my Christmas hat and sexy red baby doll slip.)

Boyfriend: “Keep singing, ‘Santa Baby.’ But make sure you dress the part. We need to start this Christmas season right.”

(My husband and I decide to swing by his parent’s house one evening. When we walk in his dad is watching a “Saturday Night Live” Christmas special while his mom is in the kitchen. We all sit down and start talking about possible Christmas gifts.)

Father-In-Law: “I know what I’m going to get your mother. Step one: Cut a hole in the box…”

Husband: “They showed that?”

Me: “I feel weird knowing you saw that.”

Mother-In-Law: “What is it?”

Husband: “It’s a skit from Saturday Night Live. A guy cuts a hole in a box and then sticks his junk in there for the girl to find when she opens the box.”

Mother-in-Law: *after a few seconds of thought* “Is it still attached?”

(Our science teacher hasn’t turned up for class. Some people went looking for him but couldn’t find him. The bell goes for the end of class. As everyone gets up to leave our teacher walks in.)

Teacher: “Oh. I got it wrong, didn’t I?”

(I have been reading fluently since the age of four. My regular preschool teacher knows this. One day we have a substitute.)

Substitute: “All right, boys and girls. Now we’re going to draw! Go ahead and draw whatever you want to. I’ll come around and write down on your paper what you drew!”

(The substitute works her way around the room and finally gets to me.)

Substitute: “[My Name], what did you draw?”

Me: “It’s Mommy, and Daddy, and [My Name], and [Dog’s Name], going to dinner at [local restaurant]. Write that, please!”
(The substitute begins to write “My family goes to dinner” on the page.)

Me: “NOOOOOO! I said ‘Mommy, and Daddy, and [My Name], and [Dog’s Name], going to dinner at [local restaurant]’! That says ‘My family goes to dinner’!”

(The substitute stares at me for a second. Then she writes down what I had said, word for word.)

Me: “THANK you.”

(The substitute hurries out of the room but forgets to close the door. Moments later, floating in from the hallway, my whole class can hear her.)

Substitute: “Why didn’t somebody tell me one of them could read?!”