My sister-in-law has recently started a new job. She and I generally get along, even though she can be a little… odd sometimes. She has a set of rules that she enforces with my niece and nephew. Some make sense; others do not, as you will see.

To help her out, I offer to watch my niece while she works until she is old enough to go to school in a few months’ time. I absolutely adore my niece so I am delighted to get to spend more time with her.

Things seem to go well… or so I thought. My sister-in-law calls and says she’d like to talk to me about something. I suggest she swing by after she finishes work. She agrees.

I’m a little nervous since she sounded a little angry on the phone. I wonder what I could have done wrong. As far as I know, I’ve followed her rules, such as limiting screen time, not letting her watch certain shows, like Spongebob — she thinks the show is inappropriate for children — and not giving my niece too many sweets, etc.

When she arrives, my sister-in-law looks very grim.

Sister-In-Law: “I need to talk to you about something you did.”

Me: “Something I did?”

Sister-In-Law: “Yes. [Niece] told me that while you were watching a movie you… you…”

She looks deeply uncomfortable for a moment. I am fearful of what she is going to say. What horror could I possibly have committed?

Sister-In-Law: “You… passed wind in front of her!”

Me: “Oh, yes, but don’t worry. I made sure to say, ‘Pardon me.’”

My sister-in-law is a real stickler for making sure my niece and older nephew use their manners, which I 100% agree with and support. Like I said, some of her rules make perfect sense. However, you’re about to see one which does not.

Sister-In-Law: “You’re supposed to go to the toilet and do it!”

Me: “What?”

Sister-In-Law: “Girls don’t… pass wind… in public!”

Me: “I wasn’t in public. I was on my sofa. In my living room. In my house.”

Sister-In-Law: “Well, girls shouldn’t do it in front of people!”

Me: “Why not?”

Sister-In-Law: “I’m not going to have this conversation with you. You should know better! From now on, I must insist that you go to the toilet to do your… your business.”

Me: “I don’t agree with it, but if you’d rather [Niece] do that in the toilet, that’s fine. I’ll make sure she does. She’s your kid, not mine, so you can raise her any way you like. But I’m not about to get up to go to the bathroom just to fart in my own home.”

Sister-In-Law: “What do you mean, you don’t agree with it?”

Me: “You’re teaching her to be ashamed of her body’s natural processes. I notice you never make [Nephew] leave the room.”

Sister-In-Law: “He’s a boy.”

Me: “Why should that matter? Everyone farts. It’s a normal, natural part of the human body. I get you might want to limit that sort of thing in certain places. [Brother] and I were always taught never to fart at the dinner table or in enclosed spaces if we could help it, but otherwise, we were free to ‘pass wind’ wherever we needed to. It’s unhealthy to keep it inside.”

My sister-in-law wasn’t having any of it and kept insisting that it was “improper” and “rude” for girls to fart anywhere except the toilet. She hadn’t mentioned this rule at all when I offered to take care of [Niece], which is odd because she listed every other rule. I guess she just assumed this was a rule that all women followed.

In the end, I told her that if she wanted somebody who would go off into another room to “pass wind,” she should start looking for a babysitter or a nanny or something. At this, [Sister-In-Law] relented, but she wasn’t happy about it.

I told [Brother] about it and he said he’d talk to her about it. He had no idea she had been making [Niece] leave the room to fart.

[Niece] continued to come and stay with me, and [Sister-In-Law] didn’t insist that she had to leave the room to pass gas, so maybe [Brother] was able to talk some sense into her.

Customer: “Are you a little person?”

Me: “Technically, yes.”

Customer: “What do you think of the Austin Powers movies?”

Me: “I thought they were stupid, to be honest.”

Customer: “You have to like them! You’re a Mini-Me of someone else!”

As I’ve advanced in my pregnancy, I’ve found that I need new underwear, and the store I get them from usually has them at good quality for pretty cheap. Imagine my delight when I walk in the day I decide to go shopping, and the prices on certain styles are now on clearance for an even lower price! However, there’s a snafu at the register that leaves me and both cashiers more than a little confused.

Cashier #1: “Huh. This particular pair is ringing up as a sweater. Just go grab another one from that clearance table, I guess.”

Me: “Sure thing.”

I get another pair in the same style and print… and the same thing happens! [Cashier #1] sighs in frustration.

Cashier #1: “I’m worried this is gonna be an issue with the whole batch…”

She calls [Cashier #2] over, and [Cashier #2] sees that the barcodes are the same.

Cashier #2: “Yeah, that’s gonna be a no-go on this particular style if they both rang that way. Ma’am, so that you have the right number of pairs for the sale, can you go pick something different?”

I did just that, and sure enough, it worked. I was very happy with the sale, but I’m glad I was the only one in the store, because as [Cashier #1] rang me up, poor [Cashier #2] then had to go through all the clearance bins and clear out the pairs that had the barcode issue. I don’t even know how you would fix something like that.

This story takes place in the 1970s when corporal punishment is still allowed in English schools. At my school, we have a headmaster who is known to be quick to take the cane to children who have been sent to his office for bad behaviour.

One day, there are two of us waiting on the bench in the corridor outside his office: me for talking in class and a girl I vaguely know from another class who has apparently been talking back to her teacher. On the bench next to us is also a large wooden box. 

The girl is nervous about having to see the headmaster and begins to talk to me to take her mind off what might be coming.

Girl: “What do you think is in this box?”

Me: “Probably the head of the last kid that had to see the headmaster.”

I joked with a touch of gallows humour.

She laughed nervously and then unclasped the box lid, lifted it, and looked inside. The horrified scream that emerged from her was loud enough to get the headmaster out of his office in an instant and have teachers emerging from nearby classrooms to see what the emergency was. After the adults had managed to calm the poor girl down, we were both sent back to our classes, all punishment forgotten.

What was in the box? Well, the local red cross had arranged a set of demonstrations that day for the older children, and for safekeeping between sessions, they had left the equipment in a box outside the headmaster’s study. The unfortunate girl had opened it and looked inside, only to see, staring back at her, a head with a sightless face and its mouth open in a silent scream. It was a CPR dummy.

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I need to buy a bicycle trailer — the sort you tow behind a bicycle to carry extra stuff. I contact a man selling a used trailer. His profile gives his name as “Mr T.” I get weird vibes from him from the start.

Seller: “Meet me at [Public Car Park], tomorrow 1500. What are you driving?”

I give him the make, model, and colour of my car.

Me: “What about you?”

Seller: “Just message me when you get there.”

Meeting in a public place is common, but this car description nonsense? I put my bicycle on my bike rack and go to meet him. I message him when I arrive.

Me: “Dang, I’m parked here but I forgot to get cash. Are you here? Do you prefer a bank transfer to save you from getting delayed further?”

Seller: “I’ll prefer the cash. There’s a cashpoint at [Location].”

Me: “What are you driving?”

Seller: “Message me after you have cash.”

He still seems to be either rude or inexperienced but not exactly a fraud. After I get the cash and come back, a man gets out of a silver SUV. I approach him with my bicycle.

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name]. What’s your name?”

Seller: “Call me ‘Good Citizen.’” *Looking at my bicycle* “You said you were coming in a car.”

Me: “I did, and I brought my bike, too. Can you show me how it connects?”

What is the harm in a first name? If he wanted to be anonymous, he could at least use a plausible pseudonym, like “John Doe.” He demonstrates how to connect the trailer to my bike.

Me: “Thanks for the demo. I would like to reconnect it myself and take it for a test cycle.”

Seller: “But it’s only a trailer.”

Me: “And I’ve never cycled with a trailer. I need to see how it handles around the car park.”

Seller: “Give me your car keys.”

I’m appalled. I know where this is going but I make him spell it out.

Me: “Why?”

Seller: “So you don’t run off with that trailer.”

Me: “Please compare the value of my car compared to your £100 trailer. Then rephrase your question.”

Seller: “Give me your phone.”

Me: “You’re delusional. Anyway, I can call my carrier and block it. It’s a useless security.”

Seller: “You could steal my trailer! I need security like your wallet or phone!”

I won’t tell him the deal is off. Again, to me, these are red flags that he’s a jerk, not dangerous. He’s also asking only €100 for a €450 trailer, and nothing else is available nearby.

Me: “Let’s discuss what would actually happen if I tried to steal your trailer. I’d have to get my bike back onto my car and the trailer inside my car, which is 100 feet away. Do you seriously think that I could do that before you could stop me?”

Seller: “…”

Me: “Anyway, who drives forty miles to snatch and grab a bloody bicycle trailer? Something like the newest iPhone, maybe. A trailer isn’t exactly discreet, and it isn’t in demand, either. So, here’s what’s going to happen: I test ride it round the car park, no security. Otherwise, no deal. Understand?”

Seller: “I’ll stand at the exit. Don’t do a runner!”

Me: “You have my word. Also, you can drop the attitude, ‘Mr. Citizen.’”

I link up the trailer and cycle around the car park. It feels peculiar, but I get used to it quickly. I come back to the seller and finally test the water with the most clichéd question in used purchases.

Me: “Did you get a lot of interest?”

Seller: “Might have done.”

Me: “You’re asking €100. Would you take €95?”

Seller: “No.”

I quickly bought the trailer and left. I left him a one-star review on the classified website. In a symbolic act, I blocked his number and prayed I would never meet him again.