(This story takes place when I am in grade five, and we are receiving our school reports. I am normally a straight-A student. My teacher sits the class down and explains to us that the school has changed their grading system this year. The teacher explains that in the new grading system, students cannot receive an A in their mid-year report. It is impossible to get anything higher than a C, because the new grade reflects what work has been achieved; as half of the assignments are due in the second half of the year, we can only get an A at the end-of-year report. I have no idea why they chose to tell us, the kids, rather than send out a letter or something to the parents. As I am only in grade five, I don’t fully understand the reasoning behind the new grading system — I still don’t, as an adult. Nevertheless, I trot home with my report. Later that evening, my mum sees my report and completely loses it.)

Mum: “What is this?!”

(I look over and see that I have mostly Cs, and some Ds.)

Me: “Oh, yeah. The teacher explained about this. She says we can’t get As because of the new report.”

Mum: “You’re lying. You haven’t been studying hard enough; that’s why you got all these Cs and Ds.”

Me: “It’s true! It’s because we haven’t done the second half of the year… or something… so we can only get As at the end of the year! That’s what she said!”

(This only angers my mum further, because she’s convinced I’m lying about it. I have always been an honest kid, but like I said, I don’t fully understand the teacher’s explanation, and I can’t explain it properly to my mum. She keeps yelling at me until I start crying. She then makes me get out my diary and write about what happened today. I’m still crying as I write, “Today, I got Cs and Ds in my report and I don’t know why.”)

Mum: *looking over my shoulder* “You liar. You know why you got Cs and Ds. You can’t even be honest to your diary.”

(Soon after, my dad came home and was greeted with this commotion: me sobbing, the report strewn all over the table, and my mum still furious with me. He listened to me as I tried to explain what the teacher said. He then said to my mum that we should probably ask the teacher to clarify, if only to double-check if what I was saying was true. My mum was sceptical, but finally agreed. I don’t know how they were able to see the teacher that late in the day — it may have been parent-teacher interviews that night; I can’t remember — but they left and came home a couple of hours later. My dad gently explained to still-miserable, nine-year-old me that I was right. The report system had changed, so according to the new system, I should be really proud of my grades. My mum was in a cheerful mood, because it turned out I did well, after all. She had the grace to look a bit sheepish, but I don’t remember ever getting an apology for her accusations.)

(I volunteer for a breastfeeding support organization that, among other things, hires breast pumps to women needing to express milk. One of our machines is acting up and, since the manufacturer’s recommended repairer is in another state, we are looking into other services that know small appliance motors. My colleague suggests her sewing machine guy.)

Guy: *chirpy* “Hello, [Sewing Machines].”

Me: “Hi, I was wondering if you service other small electrical appliances at all?”

Guy: *still chirpy* “All the time! What would you like me to take a look at?”

Me: “Great! Well, I’m from the [Organisation which includes the word ‘Breastfeeding’ in the name], and we’re having some problems with one of our electric breast pump machines, so we were wondering if you could take a look at it?”

Guy: *silence… then angry voice* “What do you think I am, some sort of perv?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Guy: *really angry, now* “This is ladies’ business! You should be asking the ladies about this!”

Me: “Well, I don’t know any ladies that can tell me if the drive belt is tensioned correctly. I just thought, seeing as you are an electrician, familiar with these kinds of motors, this would be something you could look at.”

Guy: *shouts* “I am not a pervert!” *hangs up*

(We ended up getting it serviced by someone’s 80-year-old engineer grandfather; so much for “ladies’ business.”)

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(I have met someone on an online dating website. After enjoying chatting with each other for two weeks, we decide to meet up in person. The first date goes well, and we both agree that we would like to see each other again. On the second date, he brings me to a lookout, which turns out to be much colder and more windy than anticipated, so we end up sitting in his backseat, enjoying the spot. He is much more physically affectionate than I am, although this could be partially due to my never having been out with anyone before him. He begins to cuddle with me. Just as I am beginning to relax, he speaks:)

Date: “I don’t want to kill the mood, but… are you of a healthy weight?”

(He may not have wanted to, but he killed it.)

(My husband and I are on vacation. We’ve come to a fishing village to spend a week fishing. We also intend to catch mud crabs, as my husband has never eaten real crab before.)

Husband: “I want to go on some photography expeditions. I think we can get some nice photos here.”

Me: “My goal is to catch crabs.”

Husband: “You really like crab, hey?”

Me: “I just really want to give you crabs.”

Husband: “You want to give me crabs?”

Me: *pause* “Wait! No! Not those type of crabs. I want you to taste crab.”

(We run a business that supplies weapons, clothing, and armour for Live Action Role Play [LARP] and re-enactment. We often set up and sell directly to customers at games, as well as participating in the combat ourselves.)

Me: “So, you want the full set of plate armour? That’ll be [price].”

Customer: “Great. I can’t wait!”

Me: “Do you have a gambeson?”

Customer: “What’s that?”

Me: “It’s a type of padded jacket you need to wear underneath most armours. It’s great for protecting your real-world squishy meat sack from the physical force of the blows, and—”

Customer: “Nah, it’s fine. They’re just toy swords. How much damage can they do?”

Me: “Again, it’s full, steel-plate armour, and without a gambeson to pad it, a lot of the force on it is transferred straight to your body. I suppose if you have, like, a puffy winter jacket—”

Customer: “Listen. Stop trying to upsell me, all right?! I’ve been doing this stuff for years! Just… the d***… armour.”

Me: “All right. It’s your call, mate.”

(I processed the sale, and then assisted him into the armour, as it’s very difficult to achieve alone, and the customer had no friends to help. An hour after that, full combat started, and I could see this guy running down the field at full tilt. A minute later, a Code Red was called for a serious injury that required the medical officer. The customer had fallen over and cracked a rib inside his own armour, because there was no padding.)