(My office hands out an Easter goodie: a limited-edition chocolate bar of a famous fair-trade chocolate brand. It’s clearly an Easter edition, with Easter eggs and the word “Easter” on it. After Easter, we have a few left.)

Me: *to a couple of coworkers* “If someone wants, they can have a second chocolate bar!”

(A coworker practically dives on top of the bars.)

Coworker: “Ooh, I needed a gift for my wife! It has been such a while since I gave her anything!”

Me: *jokingly* “So, your wife gets free Easter chocolate after Easter?”

Coworker: “Don’t judge me! We’re Muslim, so we don’t give a s*** about Easter, anyway.”

(I hope she’ll like the chocolate bar.)

(I’m teasing my fiancé about how much he likes it when I talk in a particular voice during “fun time.”)

Me: “You are such a dirty old man.”

Fiancé: “Well, it’s like ASMR!”

Me: “I don’t think ASMR is meant to have that effect on you.”

Fiancé: “It’s supposed to give you tingles. I don’t see why I should get judged based on what part of me tingles.”

(Yes, I laughed.)

(My new coworker makes me incredibly uncomfortable, but for weeks I can’t figure out why. He doesn’t hit on me, he doesn’t ask invasive questions, and he’s always polite, but there is just something about him that makes me want to end every conversation as soon as possible. One night we are closing the store — the male coworker, the manager, and me. The manager is in the office balancing the registers and resetting for the next day, so I am stuck by the registers with my male coworker. A long, awkward silence is finally broken when he speaks.)

Coworker: “Do you like historic tours?”

Me: “Um… like [Nearby Battlefield]?”

Coworker: “Yeah. Have you ever gone on one?”

Me: “On a field trip when I was, like, 15. Why?”

Coworker: “Oh, that’s my other job.”

Me: “Oh. Cool.”

(A few seconds of silence.)

Coworker: “So, if you ever want to do a tour, I’ll take you.”

Me: “Ah. No, thanks.”

(Awkward silence.)

Coworker: “It can be a private tour; we can take as long as we want.”

Me: *internal panic begins* “No. Pollen and grass and dirt… they’re not my friends.”

Coworker: “We can do a night tour; it’s way better. And you can take an allergy pill!”

Me: *alarm bells are going off in my head* “I don’t really like staying up late. I’m an old fart.”

Coworker: “Oh, please. I’m old enough to be your daddy.” *staring me down*

Me: *knowing I’m turning red* “Ha…”

Coworker: “You can buy me breakfast as a thank-you.”

Me: “Well. I’ll have to see what my husband is up to. He works full time, too, and—“

Coworker: *suddenly angry* “Husband?”

Me: “Well, yeah. Of course, he’s coming with me.”

Coworker: “I was… You… Never mind.” *storms out*

(A minute later the manager comes out.)

Manager: “Where did [Coworker] go?”

Me: “Um…”

(I told her what had happened. She said I wasn’t the first to note behavior like that from him, but it’s hard to fire him when he isn’t BLATANTLY trying to pick us up. I thought the whole “private tour at night and buy me breakfast” and “oh, you have a husband, never mind” were pretty blatant but I guess not. He’s a lot less nice to me these days. Oh, well.)

(My boyfriend and I are both arachnophobic, but he tends to be the spider killer because I am much more afraid than he is. One day we are on a long drive when I notice a spider on the inside of the windshield and scream. He jumps and asks what’s wrong, and I tell him about the eight-legged monstrosity on the windshield. Both of us are frantic and unsure what to do when all of a sudden he reaches out and straight up punches the spider.)

Me: “My hero!”

Boyfriend: “You can’t scream like that; I thought a meteor was about to hit us!”

Me: “Really?! A meteor? That was your first guess?”

(I recently moved to the city from my hometown in the midwest for my new job. A small group of my new coworkers has taken me out to their favorite bar in an effort to welcome me. I’m telling everyone a little bit about of myself when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and see a man I’ve never met before.)

Me: *confused* “Hello… Can I help you?”

Guy: “[My Name]? Is that really you? You look great!”

(Everyone is looking at me with puzzled looks on their faces. I honestly have no idea who this guy is, but I don’t want to be rude, either.)

Me: “I’m really sorry, but I’m not honestly recognizing who you are. Mind giving me a hint?”

Guy: “Oh, that hurts. It’s me, [Name Which Happens To Be Gender-Neutral], from high school.”

Me: *with a polite smile* “I’m sorry, but I think you must have me confused with someone else. I just moved to this area and I’m pretty sure we didn’t go to the same high school.”

Guy: “No, no, I remember you. You were pretty cute then, but d***, you’re hot now. Wish I made a better effort to get to know you better if this was how you were going to turn out.”

(He laughs it off as it’s not a big deal and tries to put his arm around me like we’re buddies. I’m getting a bit annoyed, but I simply just smile, instead.)

Me: “You said your name is [Gender-Neutral Name], right? Did you go by the same name back then?”

Guy: *a bit confused* “Well, my friends and I had nicknames for each other, but that’s what the teachers called me.”

Me: “You know what? I think it’s starting to come back to me. I remember someone named [His Name] at my school.”

Guy: “I knew you’d remember.”

Me: *with as much honesty and goodness I can muster* “Got to say I hardly recognized you. I mean, we all knew back then how uncomfortable you felt in your own skin, constantly saying you were a guy trapped in a girl’s body. I really felt bad about all the grief you got from the principal about wanting to attend prom in a tux rather than a dress, despite our entire class standing up for you. But I got to say you look amazing now – you’ve transitioned so well!”

Guy: *with a look of utter disgust and shouting* “What the f*** are you talking about? I ain’t no [homophobic slur]. I’m a real man!”

(With that, he leaves my table and me alone, with the entire table looking at me in utter confusion.)

Me: “Another fun fact about me is that I attended an all-girls high school for all four years — no boys allowed. So, when guys try that lame pick-up, it’s super easy to shoot them down.”  

(They all started cracking up. I was an instant member of their group from that point forward, and it made the transition to a new city much easier.)