(My friend is visiting her sister-in-law who lives in my neighborhood so I invite both of them over for dinner. I make shrimp creole and they both compliment it and both ask for the recipe. The recipe involves sautéing diced onion, green pepper, and celery in butter, then adding tomatoes, bay leaves, Tabasco sauce, salt, and pepper, and simmering before adding cooked shrimp and serving over rice. A week later, I get a call from the friend.)

Friend: “My husband hates your shrimp creole.”

Me: “Oh, that’s too bad. Maybe the Tabasco sauce was too spicy for him.”

Friend: “No, it couldn’t be that. I didn’t use it.”

Me: “Oh, I guess he doesn’t like all those little veggies, but anyway, too bad he was unhappy.”

Friend: “Oh, cutting up those vegetables was too much work. I wasn’t going to bother with THAT! I just bought some salsa and heated it up and dumped in some frozen shrimp and microwaved it and put it over minute rice. He said he was surprised how bad it was, and I thought I should tell you that your recipe is horrible.”

Me: “Uh, you didn’t EVEN TOUCH my recipe.”

Related:
A Recipe For Disaster, Part 2
A Recipe For Disaster

(I am an ESL teacher. I try to keep a constant dialogue going with my students, so they get used to hearing and responding in English and so the language is less intimidating. This happens after I have handed out worksheets for students to complete in pairs.)

Me: “There, now. Are we ready? Does every pair have a copy of the worksheet?”

Student: *raising his hand, nervously* “Teacher, no. We didn’t get the worksheet!”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. Here’s one for you two, too.”

Student: *looks at me with confusion, and a little bit of fear* “One, four…?”

Me: “Yes, one for—oh!” *realizing what I’ve said* “I mean, here’s a worksheet for both of you, as well!”

(It is the first day of a college-level British literature class. The teacher has just announced that we will be reading ‘Jane Eyre’ throughout the semester, and is giving a standard ‘first day’ lecture – going over the syllabus, talking about different editions of the book that are available, etc…)

Teacher: “…and that’s the edition I’ll be using, in case you want to reference my page numbers. The next—”

(Suddenly, a student in the front row puts her hand in the air.)

Teacher: “Yes?”

Student: “What will we be DOING with this book?”

(The teacher stares blankly at her for a moment, apparently trying to decide whether she is serious.)

Teacher: “… Reading it. And talking about it.”

Student: “Will we have to write things about it?”

Teacher: *staring harder* “… Yes.”

(The girl considers this information while the teacher moves to resume her lecture. The moment she opens her mouth, the same student puts her hand in the air again.)

Student: “Can we read Shades of Grey instead?”

(We are in math class. Our teacher uses an overhead projector to teach lessons. Whenever he wants us to listen, he says:)

Teacher: “Everyone drop your pencils! This is important!”

(One day he must have been distracted.)

Teacher: “Okay! Drop your pants!”

(The class erupts in laughter.)

Teacher: “Pencil! I meant PENCIL! Now, don’t go telling your parents…”

(I’m on my second date with a girl I’ve met recently. We go to the cinema to see ‘The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug’ together. The movie has just ended.)

Me: “You know… This whole movie kinda set me on a mood to watch a The Lord Of The Rings marathon.”

Girl: “But the extended edition would last twelve hours!”

Me: “I mean, I know it’s a lot, but these movies are quite awesome.”

Girl: “Except for the parts of Brokeback Mount Doom.”

Me: “Well, yeah, but…”

Girl: “Why don’t we do a marathon of Star Wars instead?”

(Yup, she’s a keeper.)