(My husband and I are playing with our toddler and he’s excitedly jabbering away at us. Suddenly, he very clearly says the “N” word.)

Me: *gasps* “No, no, [Son]! That’s a rude word! Never say that!”

Son: *shaking his head* “No, no!”

Husband: *frowns* “I wonder where he heard that? I know we don’t say it, and none of our friends do. No one even says it with an ‘a’ on the end.”

Me: *scowling at him* “Well, obviously it was from your mom and step-dad or some of their friends at their church.”

Husband: *scoffs* “Why would you say that? How do you know that he didn’t hear it from your parents or some of your family?”

Me: “Oh, I don’t know. It could be the fact that your mom said some of her neighbors proudly told her that they had run a—” *leans over and whispers [ethnic slur] then resumes normal tone of voice* “—out of their town a few years before your mom and step-dad moved in. And she still tries to say that they’re good, nice people.”

Husband: *shocked* “What?!” *shakes his head* “And she claims that living in the South hasn’t rubbed off on her.”

Me: *glares*

Husband: “I’m not saying all people from the South are racist, but that’s how my mom used to think, and she always swore that living in the South wouldn’t make her ‘like those people,’ as she used to say. Seems she’s become one of the people she swore she’d never be.”

Me: *sighs* “We’re going to have to have a long talk with your mom and step-dad, and it’s going to be a long time before he stays with them again.”

(I go to school in a bigger city that’s an hour away from where I live. I have a bike at the city to bring me from the station to school, just because I try to avoid local public transport. It’s a very cheap, second hand bike, and the gears are taken off, so it’s now set in one gear. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stay in that one gear, causing the chain to slip, so I bring it to the bike repair shop near the station. Before, it was set to third gear, which was fine with me. I pick up my bike after repairs and notice it has been set to first gear, so when I try to gain any momentum I have to pedal like a maniac. I used to be a lot heavier, but recently lost quite a bit of weight; most of the weight I haven’t lost yet is gathered in my thighs.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but can it possibly be set to the gear it was in when I brought it here? I’m not really looking forward to biking to the other side of town in first gear all the way.”

Bike Repair Guy: “Sorry, this is the only gear I can put it on in order to make it work. If I tighten it any further, your chain will slip again.”

Me: “Are you sure? Well, I guess I have to take it as it is then.”

Bike Repair Guy: “Besides, some extra pedaling would do you no harm. Get some of that fat off your legs!”

(I left as fast as I could in order not to give that guy a mouthful. Have never been back since.)

(My mother and I are getting pedicures together at one of our favorite nail salons after not having them done for a while. My mom has struggled with her weight for years and is understandably sensitive about it. We’ve just sat down and the technicians have come over to start our pedicures when this occurs.)

Technician: “Do you have any medical conditions?”

Mom: “None that are relevant to this, no. Thanks for asking.”

Technician: “Really? Not diabetic?”

(I look over, shocked a bit at the gall of this woman, and waiting to see if my mother wants to just leave the shop.)

Mom: *amazingly keeping her cool* “Nope. Just fat. Thanks.”

(If someone says that they don’t have a relevant medical condition — the first time we’d ever been asked something like that anywhere, ever — don’t push them! No one is going to forget they have diabetes and then remember when you suggest that they might.)

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(My friend is severely allergic to peanuts.)

Waitress: “What would you like? Our specials are [list of specials].”

Friend: “I’ll have [meal], please. But does that have peanuts?”

Waitress: “Let me check.”

(She runs to the kitchen to ask someone.)

Other Customer: “Pasta doesn’t have peanuts, idiot.”

Friend: “Actually, some foods have traces of peanuts that you can’t taste. I happen to be allergic, so if I eat it, I could wind up in the ER.”

Other Customer: “That’s made-up!”

Me: “Actually, allergies are real things that really happen. And yeah, they can be life-threatening.”

Other Customer: “No, they are not! Allergies are sneezing. She’s making this up to get attention!”

Me: “Umm…”

Waitress: “No, it’s peanut-free.”

Other Customer: “I told you, you dumb b****! You want attention!”

Me: “Um, you’re the one making a spectacle.”

(The offending customer was removed and my friend got a free meal. Thanks, idiot customer, for the free pasta.)

(My grandfather was a math teacher, and this is a story I heard about him many times. Given the end result, I believe the particular topic at hand was statistics.)

Grandfather: “Now, nobody needs to answer, and if you do, I’m not going to tell anyone. How many people here have smoked marijuana?”

(Several hands go up.)

Grandfather: “Okay. Now, keep your hand up if the first time you ever had mashed potatoes came before the first time you ever had marijuana.”

(Everyone’s hand stayed up. And that’s how my grandfather “proved” that mashed potatoes are a gateway drug.)