I’m on a weekend road trip with my friends. The friend who is navigating volunteered because she “has a great sense of direction.” Unfortunately, this seems to be based entirely on confidence and not, like, maps. 

I wake up a ways into the journey (I joined at the tail end of a night shift) to see endless winding country roads.

Me: “Hey, weren’t we supposed to be on the highway?”

Navigator: “This is kinda a highway.”

Me: “It’s a highway with a speed limit of 25?”

Navigator: “I chose the scenic highway.”

Me: “This is a farm. That cow made eye contact.”

Navigator: “Okay, so there might have been two places with the same name…”

Me: “…”

Navigator: “…and I typed the wrong one into the GPS.”

On the plus side, we all had a nice lunch at a farm-side café serving local produce. We did end up being three hours late to our destination, however…

This story happened during the height of the pandemic, when everyone was encouraged to wear facemasks. I was one of those crazy craft ladies using her scrap bins to make masks for anyone who wanted them, and I always had a few on me.  

On this day, I was hanging out with some of my friends, one of whom didn’t see the point in wearing facemasks. 

Me: “Hey, [place we’re at] requires masks. I’ve got an extra you can have.”

Friend: “Well, masks don’t stop you from sneezing. Just like underwear don’t stop you from farting!” *Laughs at his own joke.*

Me: “This is true. But if you have a wet fart, wearing underwear means you don’t stain your couch. Just like a mask stops you from spreading germs when you sneeze.”

There was a brief pause as my friend processed my point. Then he gingerly took my offered facemask and put it on. Every time he saw me during the pandemic, he would mumble “wet farts” and put a facemask on.

For most of my life, I’ve struggled with my weight and with body image issues. While I’m finally on my way to a healthier me today, both physically and mentally, this occurred a few years ago. This is important to know in terms of mindset. The key point of this story is that I just got a large tattoo on my upper arm – I find tattoos to be immensely positive in terms of loving my body. 

This first story occurs at a brewery that is holding an event in the month of June. To one side is a sweet little art market. I’m wandering the stalls and come up to one manned by an elderly woman. My tattoo is on full display.

We talk about the pieces for a bit and how her granddaughter roped her into helping out, and then she points at my arm.

Let’s call her Grumpy Old Lady:

GOL: “Why would you do that to yourself? My granddaughter does it, too. Why would you ruin your beautiful skin?”

Me: *Caught off guard.* “Oh, uh… well, it makes me happy.”

She puffs up. 

GOL: “Back in my day, we kept our bodies pure.”

Against my better judgment, I laugh. I have never heard that line outside someone painting a caricature of the typical “boomer”. This obviously does not do wonders for the conversation – she is edging towards furiously annoyed, expression-wise – but I try to smooth things over.

Me: “Well, that made you happy. This makes me happy.”

GOL: “Yes, well, what will a future husband think of it?”

At this, I drop all pretences of being nice. 

Me: “Lady, you’re at a Pride event. What makes you think I’m looking for a husband?”

I’m sure this would have gone downhill further, but at that moment, the granddaughter in question returns, and all signs of vitriol are gone from GOL. I make some polite conversation with the granddaughter and then escape.

Now, for the positive side of this story: that same weekend, I attended church with my parents (they wanted me to meet some of their community). I’m dressed in a knee-length, short-sleeved dress with a sweater over it, but by the end of mass, I’m sweating buckets because they don’t have air conditioning, so I take my sweater off. We’re mingling with other parishioners when a tiny octogenarian marches up to me, grabs my arm, and pushes up my sleeve to see the whole of my tattoo.

Let’s call her Nina. Think of her as your typical black southern grandma, drawl and all. 

At first, I think this is round two of judgment, but no.

Nina: *Now pulling me towards her family.* “Oh, isn’t this just lovely? Look at this beautiful art!”

Woman: *Who I later learned was her sister.* “Nina! Stop dragging that poor girl around.”

Nina: “But isn’t it gorgeous?” *She turns to me, keeping a grip on my arm and rubbing my tattoo lovingly.* “I wish I had been brave enough to do this myself! I’m too old now, but it’s just stunning!”

I’m laughing at this point and thank her. We have a conversation about how you’re never too old while she tells me about all the tattoos she’s ever dreamed of getting. Just goes to show!

This takes place over a decade and should be a cautionary tale of why to never be friends just to be nice. I decide to go back to school a few years after round one, so I’m in my early-mid 20s. It just so happens that the son of one of my mom’s friends is also going back to school, same college and campus.

Mom: “Is it okay if I give him your number? He’s having a hard time making friends because he’s socially awkward. Autism.”

Me: “Sure, as long as he knows it’s just to be friends!”

Mom: “Of course!”

I meet the guy (who I’ll call Creep since that’s what he turned into) on campus in a very well-lit, well-travelled common area.

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name]. Nice to meet you.”

Creep: “Your boobs are much bigger in real life! Oh, sorry, that’s the autism!”

Me: “…Never do that again.”

Creep: “Yeah, it makes me say things.”

Me: “No, it doesn’t. I have autistic friends. It can mean you miss social cues, not say inappropriate things.”

Creep: “Oops. So, are you seeing anyone?”

Me: “Yes, and we’re very much committed. I’m not interested in dating. In fact, we’re hoping to get engaged once I’m done school and both have full time jobs.”

Creep: “I bet I can be a much better provider! Just give me a chance!”

Me: “Good-bye!”

So ends that lovely meeting.

I tell my mother, who talks to her friend, and after much negotiating, I agree to give him another chance. But talking about my body and boyfriend is off limits.

Creep: “So, what do you do for fun?”

Me: “Mostly draw and write.”

I go into a brief synopsis of a story I’ve been writing for years.

Creep: “Oh. So, it’s a lame girl-power, castle, and magic story.”

Me: “EXCUSE ME?!”

Creep: “Well, that’s the boxes it checked. I can probably guess the ending of the main bad girl going straight and marrying her antagonistic male equivalent? So cliché!”

Me: “Well… Yes… But you’re totally missing the in-between! [Boyfriend] and I have been doing a lot of careful lore building and multi-generations of heroes.”

Creep: “Oh, so he encourages this. I guess he would. You know, if you give me a chance, I could support you to let you write something original and creative.”

Me: “You insult my work and want a chance?!” *I have a very naturally loud voice, so it carries, and people are now looking.* “Not a chance! Goodbye!”

Round two of the mothers smoothing things over. I’m yet again sweet-talked into a third chance, but my limit is closing in.

Me: “Oh shoot, I forgot my textbook. I’ll see if [Boyfriend] can drop it off.”

Creep: “What do you see in that guy?!”

Me: “He’s sweet, he’s supportive, he’s seen me at my lowest, and cares about me for me.”

Creep: “And what does he do for a living?”

Me: “We’ve been over this. He’s working part-time until he can get into his field.”

Creep: “In IT! I’m going into Engineering! I can pay for way nicer things!”

Me: “You can’t buy me.”

I get up to meet my boyfriend as he drops off my textbook.

Creep: “He shouldn’t even be here! He’s not a student! This is trespassing!”

My boyfriend just looks him up and down, hands me the textbook, and walks away.

Creep: “See, he was intimidated by me!”

Me: “No, he doesn’t see you as even worth his time. Bye!”

Things go silent, with the occasional text message. I don’t block because I want proof if things escalate. And boy, do they:

Creep: “I’m coming over to your place.”

Me: “What?! No, you are not! You don’t even know where I live!”

Creep: “Oh, Mom told me. Please, I have nowhere else to go! I’m shivering at the bus stop!”

Cue me immediately calling my mom, who explains he was kicked out for trying to harm his mother and was placed in a mental hold. I then call the hospital.

Me: “[Creep] is standing at the bus stop right now on the way to me! I do not want him here!”

Doctor: “That’s not a very supportive attitude for a girlfriend.”

Me: “I AM NOT HIS GIRLFRIEND! He is a STALKER!”

Doctor: “Well, that’s not the story he told us.”

Me: “Let me make it perfectly clear: He. Is. NOT. My. Boyfriend! Never has been, never will be! If he shows up, I will be calling the police and suing the hospital for allowing someone who tried to harm his MOTHER near his stalking victim!”

Doctor: “…We’ll send an orderly out to get him.”

Now I block him and don’t see him around the school.

Fast forward a few years, I find out that he’s better medicated, but still don’t unblock him. He finds me on Facebook about two years later.

Creep: “So, now that I’m better and have more control over my autism, can I have a chance?”

Me: “NO! I am ENGAGED! Never going to happen!”

Creep: “You’ll regret it! You’ll get to the altar, realize I’m the one, and run off to find me! It happens in movies and TV all the time!”

Me: “…You think a FICTIONAL plot will make me change my mind?! No! Blocked!”

I blocked him, and his parents are invited to the wedding as a favour to my mom. His mom comes up to me towards the end of the night.

His Mom: “I’m so sorry about [Creep]! He’s truly waiting at home for you! And we found out that he doesn’t even have autism.”

Me: “…Say what?”

His Mom: “It turns out that he faked it! All the symptoms! Turns out that he has [different disorder that’s known for manipulation].”

Me: “No kidding…”

Moving forward another two years, I’m at work in a hotel when in walks [Creep].

Me: “Hi, [Creep]… Do you need anything?”

Creep: “Well, maybe a room. I got kicked out again. I could use some company, too.”

Me: “Nope, fully booked!”

Creep: “Is [Boyfriend] still around?”

Me: “Husband now, and yes, he is! He’s actually on his way to pick me up! Gets me at the end of every shift!”

Creep: “Oh… Too bad… Maybe I’ll see you around…”

I promptly put him on the ‘Do Not Rent’ list, because I’m not even taking that chance!

After not too deep digging, my mom told his mom where I worked, which led to a conversation of never ever ever tell her anything about where I worked or lived! At this point, we’re now a decade on from when this all started, and I see a Facebook notification through Creep’s mom’s post.

Creep: “Engaged! To the best girl I could give the best life to, after having my heart cruelly smashed in the past!”

Didn’t even respond to it. I’m now debating also blocking his mom, or just leaving him to this girl to deal with!

My aunt lives in a retirement home, where the residents like to meet up for coffee in the lounge. 

The week Pope Francis died, it was naturally one of the biggest conversation topics, even for non-religious people, but one day it got an unexpected twist.

Non-Dutch people probably don’t know this, but around the time the Pope died, a famous Dutch Michelin-star chef also passed away quite unexpectedly. These two deaths, so close to each other, were talked about one morning over coffee, when one of the residents said, dry as dust:

Elderly Lady: “Well, I guess the Pope decided to take the best chef up with him.”

My aunt nearly snorted her coffee.