(I am walking home with my female friends from a party at about 11 pm. We are 17-18 and there are a group of boys who can’t be older than 13-14 just ahead.)

Me: *noticing group of boys looking over* “Oh, God, here we go.”

Boy: *to my friend * “Hey, baby, can I get some digits?”

Friend: “Digits? Seriously? What is this, 2006? You’re, like, 12, for god’s sake!”

Boys: *speechless*

Friend: “GO TO BED, YOU UNDERAGE FOOLS!”

(It’s Friday night and I have had a bad week. My cat died, I worked a double shift the night before, and I was working until nine this night. I really wanted to see my boyfriend but living an hour away and having to work again on Saturday, I understood that I wouldn’t. At one point my boyfriend had thought about coming over, but decided against it since he hadn’t brought a change of clothes or anything to entertain him while I was at work. He says his mom has invited him over, which kind of upsets me as I’m already not in a good mood. The two of us are also ‘Friends’ fans and he sends me a text as I’m leaving work.)

Boyfriend: “Don’t get on the bus! The phalanges are broken!”

Me: “Huh? What phalanges?”

Boyfriend: “The phalanges! On the bus!”

Me: “Uh huh… right.”

Boyfriend: “Seriously! Don’t get on the bus! Think of the children!”

Me: “What children?”

Boyfriend: “The children on the bus! The phalanges!”

Me: “Right, sure.”

Boyfriend: “Do you really want to risk it?”

(I stop walking to reply to the last message and as I do, I see a car I recognize to be his speeding through the parking lot. He barrels past me, doing a double take as he passes, realizing I’m standing there, he slams on the brakes. On the verge of tears I run over to the car.)

Me: “You’re here.”

Boyfriend: “D*** it! I was trying to be all cute and romantic and I didn’t expect you to leave work so early!”

Me: “I got out on time!”

Boyfriend: “I know! But still! It’s not cute and romantic anymore!”

(I lean in and give him a kiss.)

Me: “It’s totally cute and romantic. And just what I needed.”

(My older brother and I are very young. As our mother has been bugging my brother to take me out to the playground, he grudgingly agrees, and I happily go off with him. All was going well until I insist that my brother put me on a tire-swing, spin it, and let go. He did, and I lost my grip halfway and fell down.)

Me: *lying there, groaning in pain*

Brother: “Don’t tell mama, okay? Okay!?”

Me: *groans*

Brother: “You heard me? Don’t tell mama or I’m never bringing you out to the playground again!”

(I am having a movie night with my sons, aged four and six. Occasionally I will make a comment or have a small chat with my husband, who is deployed. About half way through the movie, my four-year-old turns around, completely exasperated, and in a very stern voice says:)

Four-Year-Old Son: “Zip it, lock it, and put it in your pocket.”

(He then turns around and crosses his arms, and I don’t dare say another word for the rest of the movie.)

(I’m in the pharmacy picking up my prescription for insulin.)

Pharmacy Tech: “We are currently out of the insulin pens, so we’ve substituted a bottle of insulin that you can use until we get the pens back in stock in a few days.”

Me: “That’s fine, but I don’t have any syringes at home any more so I’ll need to buy some.”

Pharmacy Tech: “You’ll need to get a doctor to send us a prescription for the syringes.”

Me: “So, you are saying you don’t have the insulin pens. So you are giving me a bottle of insulin, but you won’t give me the syringes to use them?”

Pharmacy Tech: “We can’t give you syringes without a doctor’s prescription.”

Me: “Can I please talk to the pharmacist?”

Pharmacy Tech: “She’s very busy right now, and she’s going to tell you the same thing.”

Me: “I will wait.”

(The pharmacy tech huffs, and I go sit down in the waiting area. About 10 minutes later, after I’ve seen the pharmacist give several consultations, I walk up to the consultation window.)

Pharmacist: *very pleasantly* “Hi. Do you need a consultation?”

Me: “Actually, the lady at the register said that you were substituting a bottle of insulin instead of the pens because you are out.”

Pharmacist: “Oh, you need to know how to use the syringes?”

Me: “No, I know how to do that, but I don’t have any syringes.”

Pharmacist: “Oh, no problem. We’ll give you some since we are out of the pens.”

Me: “The lady at the register is refusing to give them to me without a prescription.”

(The pharmacist looks towards the registers and glares.)

Pharmacist: “She’s been doing that all day. I don’t know why I have to keep explaining it to her. At least she goes home in half an hour.”

(The pharmacist rang me up and I was on my way with syringes. I never saw the pharmacy tech there again.)