(My fiancé and I are both gamers, but he is much more dedicated then I am.)

Me: “So what would you do if I walked in on your game in some sexy new lingerie?”

Fiancé: “That depends. If it was a game in which I could save at any time, I would immediately save and then jump you. If it was something a bit more complex, I would calmly finish my game and jump you once I reached a stopping point.”

Me: “Fair enough, but what about if you were just goofing around on Battlefield?”

Fiancé: “I’d tell everyone I was leaving to get laid before signing out.”

Me: “Good answer!”

(Recently, I’ve started seeing somebody. He’s gotten me stuck on a TV series.)

Me: “Oh god, it’s so suspenseful! It keeps me at the edge of my seat!”

Him: “Doesn’t it? That’s why I kept watching; you’ve just got to know what happens next!”

Me: “Yeah, but there have been way too many moments where I’ve wanted to cuddle something because it’s so… well, you know… gripping!”

Him: “I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!”

(Yeah, he’s a keeper.)

(My family and I are home watching a pageant on TV. I am a gay male, and have made my complete indifference to the female form known to them long ago.)

Mother: *hearing the name of one of the participants’ country* “Wait, where is that again?”

Me: “I didn’t hear it well either. It’s written across her chest, though.”

Mother: “I can’t read it; it’s too small.”

Me: “Wait a minute…”

(I stand up and get closer to the screen, because I can’t read it either. Eventually, I’m less than a meter from the screen. My brother looks at me and laughs.)

Brother: “Honestly, the things we won’t do to finally get you to stare at a pair of boobs.”

(My sister and I have differing opinions on whether to shave one’s legs or not. I hate my leg hair and shave regularly, while she doesn’t see it as necessary and is rather lazy about it. My sister is sitting next to me, on her laptop and wants to show me a picture. She puts her hand on my leg to get my attention.)

Sister: “Eww, your leg is prickly.”

Me: “Yours are hairy.”

Sister: “At least mine don’t feel like a cactus!”

Me: “At least mine don’t look like Chewbacca’s crotch!”

(I tend to call my dad by his first name. We’re making sandwiches for lunch, so I take the bread over to him.)

Me: *sets bread on the counter* “It’s bread, Jim.”

Mom: “It’s bread, Jim, but not as we know it, not as we know it, not as we know it.”

Dad: *hangs his head in shame, trying not to laugh*