I dated a man who was never responsible for his own actions. And I do mean a man; he was thirty-two at the time of this phone call. I was twenty-one, so I was young enough to think that being the one to step up and take care of him was the right choice for me. As it turned out, it wasn’t.

This conversation was about our two-year anniversary. 

Me: “When will you be here on Friday?”

Boyfriend: “For what?”

Me: “To pick me up.”

Boyfriend: “For what?!”

Me: “We’re going to [Restaurant] for dinner? It’s our anniversary.”

Boyfriend: “Oh. I made other plans, sorry.”

He didn’t sound at all sorry.

Me: “Why would you make other plans? We reserved the restaurant a month ago.”

Boyfriend: *Defensively* “Why didn’t you remind me if this is so important to you?”

Me: “I told you last weekend in person, and I told you on the phone on Wednesday.”

Boyfriend: “Okay, well, I don’t remember that at all. Maybe you were talking to someone else.”

Me: “I texted you on Thursday, and you replied to the text saying, ‘Okay, I’ll be there.’”

Boyfriend: “Well, you can’t expect me to remember these things if you don’t write them down. I have a full-time job. Don’t get pissy with me for—”

Me: “It is in your phone calendar and written on the paper calendar in your kitchen.”

There was a pause, and I heard him tapping through his phone. He cursed, and then I heard him walking to the kitchen.

Boyfriend: “Well, I still made other plans.”

Me: “Okay, you go ahead and do whatever you want.”

Boyfriend: “You’re not mad?”

Me: “Oh, no, I’m pissed. But I’m not going to keep putting in all this effort if you’re not going to try.”

Boyfriend: “I am trying! What do you want me to do?”

Me: “I want you to f****** listen when I talk, pay attention when we make plans, and be a f****** adult!”

Boyfriend: “Wow. You know, you are not going to talk to me like that.”

Me: “You’re right; I’m not. Enjoy whatever plans you have. Don’t bother calling me again.”

I hung up.

He tried to call a few days later, leaving voicemails saying things like, “I hope you’ve calmed down by now,” and, “If you’d like to apologize for your behavior, I’m listening.” I never responded to anything, and after a few weeks, he stopped calling.

I’m not feeling great, so my boyfriend is getting me some lunch. We have some frozen stuff, but while the outside is hot, the middle isn’t. My boyfriend puts it back into the microwave and — surprise, surprise — it’s hot when it comes out. He then does some “hot potato” to keep it from burning his hands before putting it on the table.

Me: “Why didn’t you grab a tea towel and use that to carry it?”

Boyfriend: *Jokingly* “Because I am a man, and I do stupid stuff and mistake it for courage!”

I burst out laughing.

My husband and I are relaxing at home, and he’s having a bowl of instant ramen. As he’s finishing the last of it, a small piece of noodle falls from his fork to the floor, escaping his notice.

Me: *In mock affront* “[Husband], how could you?”

Husband: “Wha?”

I point to the piece of noodle.

Me: “You’ve leaked noods!”

[Husband] looks down at the noodle and shrugs.

Husband: “Eh, at least they were my own!”

My husband has just gotten home from picking up our seven-month-old daughter from daycare. Once I finish my work for the evening, I check on them.

Me: “How are we doing in here? According to the daycare app, it looks like she hasn’t had a diaper change in a bit?”

Husband: “Looks like it. Mind taking care of that? I’ve gotta start dinner prep.”

Me: “Sure. All right, kiddo, let’s go check the damage.”

She and I have gotten maybe ten steps when she projectile-vomits over herself, me, and the floor. I yell for [Husband]’s help, and over the next thirty minutes, we get her changed and bathed, I get a shower, and [Husband] cleans off the floor.

After we’re all settled, [Husband] and I both agree that neither of us feels like cooking now, and we order dinner from a local place that does Nashville Hot Chicken sandwiches.

When [Husband] comes back from picking up the order, he pulls out a cake slice from the bag.

Husband: “It’s for you. Consider it an ‘I’m sorry you got puked on’ present.”

I know this man loves me, but extra gestures like this make it even more obvious.

One of my friends is heavily pregnant and suffering from baby-brain. She is also in peak nesting and constantly cleaning and organising the house.

Her husband doesn’t quite understand nesting and has been questioning and telling [Friend] that she doesn’t need to do all this work. [Friend] is strong-willed normally, so you know these arguments haven’t gone in her husband’s favour. He has now been told essentially to just be quiet and let her organise the house how she wants for the arrival of the baby. She will be the one home with the baby, after all.

One day, [Friend] is organising the fridge, and she is getting very frustrated as she’s doing so. She’s moving everything around to get a bulk of room. Her husband starts watching. He knows better than to question her, but he starts to smile when he sees what she is trying to fit in the fridge. He sits down and watches for a while, holding back his laughter as his pregnant wife gets more and more frustrated and it starts to manifest as anger.

After a good fifteen minutes, [Friend] slams what she’s holding on the bench, and her husband starts cracking up laughing. She turns and stares daggers at him.

Husband: *With a smile* “What are you doing, dear?”

Friend: “I’m just trying to make room in the fridge for the… toaster.”

She stopped in confusion and looked at the fridge and the toaster. She shut the fridge, put the toaster back, and started laughing after a few minutes of mixed emotions.

She no longer has issues letting her husband have input when she is organising the house.