(My girlfriend is kind of a ‘90s riot-girl. I´ve had a hard time giving her a ‘pet name,’ as everything just seems wrong. Calling her ‘baby’ or ‘honey’ makes me feel really uncomfortable, and she doesn’t like it much either. However, lately I’ve started making fun of the whole thing using a modified quote from her favourite movie, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”. She thinks it’s awesome, so I keep using it. We are at a house party with a bunch of my friends. They all really like my girlfriend, and keep telling me to hold on to her.)

Girlfriend: “So, I’m getting another drink. Want one?”

Me: “No, thanks. I’m good.”

(My girlfriend gets up and walks towards the kitchen. I lift up my bottle of beer, only to realize that it is actually close to empty.)

Me: *shouting* “Hey! Sweetie, honey, baby, child, WHATEVER! Get me another beer!”

(At this point, ALL the people in the room have turned to me and are giving me the evil eye.)

Me: “NO! Wait! She… It’s an inside joke! She finds it funny!”

(Everyone is still glaring.)

Me: *to girlfriend* “Please…”

Girlfriend: *bursts out laughing* “MAN! I wish I could keep a straight face right now! Your friends would MURDER you!”

(My sister is out having lunch with my wife. My sister is gay but looks very girly, while my wife has several piercings and very short hair. Their male server takes a long look at my sister.)

Server: “Hey, babe. My shift ends in 15. Why don’t you ditch her and come have lunch on me?”

Sister: “Uh, no, thanks. Can we just order?”

Server: “Oh, come on! Look at her. You know this [lesbian slur] just wants to get in your pants right?”

Sister: “As opposed to you? She is actually married to my brother, if you must know. I, however, am a [lesbian slur], and not interested in your scrawny a**. Though I doubt you’d get any girls using a method like that. Come on, [Wife’s Name], let’s have lunch elsewhere.”

(A customer sits down at the bar and proceeds to wave her arms at me as if I cannot see her.)

Customer: “Um, hi! Bartenderrrr! Hi! I need to order a drink!”

Me: “Okay. Let me finish taking this order and I’ll be right with you.”

Customer: “Okayyy, but I’m really thirstyyy!”

(The customer and her friends giggle as if it’s the first time I’ve heard anyone say this. I finish with the order and walk over to her.)

Me: “Yes, ma’am. What can I get for you?”

Customer: “I really, really, really want something fun and fruity. How about a Malibu and pineapple? Ooooh, and do you have cherry juice? I love cherry juice!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. We have grenadine. Give me one moment and I’ll get that for you.”

(I go to make her drink. It’s one and a quarter ounce of Malibu, which is a coconut rum, three ounces of pineapple juice, and a splash of grenadine. I hand her the drink. She squeals when she sees that I’ve poked the straw through a cherry.)

Customer: “That’s just adorrrable!”

(I walk over to aid another customer, but the original customer calls me back.)

Customer: “Oh, my god! UGH! Bartender! BarrrrrTENDER!”

Me: “Yes? Is something wrong?”

Customer: “Oh my GODDDD! I cannot drink this. You put coconut in this! I hate coconut! I didn’t ask for coconut!”

Me: “Wait. I thought you said Malibu?”

Customer: “I DID. But you put something with coconut in it. Do you even know what you’re doing?”

(I try to explain that Malibu is a coconut rum, but the customer isn’t listening.)

Customer: “I want a new drink… Now! Remake this without the coconut!”

Me: “If you want, I can make that drink with white rum instead of coconut rum.”

Customer: “Yes! Just a Malibu and Pineapple with the cherry juice. But no coconut! I hate coconut! Just Malibu, pineapple juice, and cherries! NO COCONUT!”

(I ignore the fact that she’s talking to me as if I’m five. I make the drink with white rum and hand it to her.)

Customer: “Oh, my God. This is so much better. You should have just made it like this the first time. I don’t blame you, though. Don’t worry, honey. I can tell you’re new with drinks.”

(The customer drinks a few, and pays her bill.)

Customer: “You really should be careful. People could be allergic to things, you know. Imagine if I had a coconut allergy! Oh, you just need to pay ATTENTION. You could save somebody’s life!”

(I smiled through gritted teeth and watched her walk out the door. When she finally left, the remaining bar guests gave me a round of applause. I bowed.)

(Over the last few holiday seasons, our family has created a tradition of checking out the Christmas lights around the neighborhoods. One year we came up with the idea of giving the families of the three houses that we really like a holiday ‘sweet treat.’ After a short while, the boys decide on one particular house. They get out of the car, and walk up to the front door. I get out as well. I overhear the conversation between my oldest son and the elderly woman who answers the door.)

Son: “Hi, ma’am. Sorry to bother you, but my family and I are checking out the neighborhood’s Christmas lights. We really liked yours, so we’d like to give you—”

Elderly Lady: “No! I don’t want anything from you. Goodbye!”

Son: “Um, ma’am. We’re not trying to sell you anything. We just—”

Elderly Lady: “I don’t care what you want! Go away!”

Son: “But—”

Elderly Lady: “NO!”

(With that, she closes the door on them. Dejected, they come back to the car. My oldest, in particular, is really upset about it. I explain to my wife what happened.)

Wife: “Unbelievable. Don’t worry, guys. We’ll find some better houses.”

Son: *muttering* “Crusty b****.”

Wife: “Hey!”

Son: “Well, she was! What? I can’t have an opinion?”

Me: “We’re not disagreeing with you, kiddo. Express yourself a little more eloquently, that’s all.”

(We ride on in silence, and after a few minutes, I hear my oldest boy in the back.)

Son: *singing* “You’re a mean one, Mrs. Grinch.”

(My wife and I start laughing as his two brothers join in. Thankfully, the rest of the night went better. The other families we stopped at accepted our gift and thanked us warmly. The last house we picked was hands-down the best: a genuine Clark Griswold-type house with about a dozen inflatable displays in the front yard!)

(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.”