I’m visiting my boyfriend at his family’s house one day when they get a call saying his father has had a heart attack and is in hospital. Naturally, they all want to rush to leave, and I volunteer to stay and look after the dog.

I am a cat person and have had little experience with dogs. The family is gone pretty much all day — as you could guess with something like this — and the dog starts reminding me that it is nearly dinner time.

I text my boyfriend.

Me: “What do you normally do with food for [Dog]?”

Boyfriend: “Give him two scoops of the dry food we have in the cupboard.”

I do. [Dog] ends up sleeping happily on the sofa until they get back, all is well, and [Boyfriend]’s dad is recovering at the hospital after emergency surgery.

When they return, [Boyfriend]’s mum looks at a very happy dog.

Boyfriend’s Mum: “Was everything okay?”

Me: “Yes. I was surprised how quickly [Dog] wolfed down his two scoops.”

Boyfriend’s Mum: *Frowning slightly* “But that’s his food for the whole day.”

No wonder the dog was so happy that evening.

I am a woman, and unfortunately, I am well-endowed in the chest area. By that, I mean that my breasts are disproportionately large to my body.

I have been struggling for some time with the complications that come with them. Constant back pain has been “normal” since my teenhood, and it soon started affecting my sciatic nerve. Medical care in the USA being what it is, I wasn’t able to get the option for breast reduction surgery until very recently. An appointment with a neurosurgeon finally switched the argument from “cosmetic and unnecessary” to “medically necessary” with my insurance.

The next problem came from, of all things, my boyfriend at the time.

Boyfriend: “Why are you talking about getting your breasts reduced? They’re fine.”

Me: “Unfortunately, they’re not, hun. They’re too big and too heavy for me.”

Boyfriend: “But they’re beautiful! Why are you being vain and trying to use a knife to change your appearance?”

Me: “Because it’s not about appearances; it’s affecting my health! Do you remember the doctor’s appointment I had the other day?”

Boyfriend: “Yeah, what about it?”

Me: “I got that appointment because the pain got so bad I couldn’t function. The doctor is a neurologist. She said I now have spinal damage and that I need to get them reduced.”

Boyfriend: “Can’t you, like, wear a custom back brace or something?”

Me: *Coldly* “No.”

Boyfriend: “Well, I don’t support you going under the knife to ruin your [rude word for breasts].”

That sparked one h*** of an argument, which ended with me saying:

Me: “If all you care about me for is my boobs, then you lose access to them, whether I get surgery or not! You’re a single man-child now!”

Then, I kicked him out and cried angry tears.

My surgery was a success, though the recovery was long due to complications with my back.

My ex-boyfriend went around all our social circles, saying:

Ex-Boyfriend: “I didn’t support it, and she did it anyway! I should have an equal say in our relationship, and she didn’t respect that!”

He expected everyone to have his back but got a nasty surprise when all of them clapped back, called him a d****e, and stopped hanging out with him. Luckily, I lost nearly 200 pounds, PLUS whatever weight I lost from the breast reduction, and I’m happy as can be.

My girlfriend is a kindergarten teacher. It’s late summer, and she’s getting ready for the school year to start. She does a “Letter Of The Week” every week with the kids to help them learn the alphabet and some basic handwriting. She has me make large posters that say “Letter Of The Week” with each letter in capital and lowercase form.

Me: “If my handwriting is poor, are you going to make me redo the assignment?”

Girlfriend: “Are you serious?”

Me: “No, just kidding.”

Girlfriend: “Okay, good. If your handwriting was that sloppy, I would have made the school enroll you in my class.”

My handwriting was ultimately deemed to be acceptable. Good thing I don’t have to redo kindergarten.

My boyfriend’s dad is a rather stern and unforgiving person. Dear old Dad disowned [Boyfriend] after he failed his A levels. But after my boyfriend scored really well on his UCAT test, he and his dad sat down and came to an agreement.

Due to the exceptional score in his UCAT, [Boyfriend]’s disownment was provisionally rescinded. And if my boyfriend got straight As for his A-level retake, he’d be permanently un-disowned.

Then, about five months later, [Boyfriend] got disowned again because he insinuated his father was “overcompensating for something” with his humongous new TV. His dad, in a fit of blind rage, summarily threw [Boyfriend] out of the house.

That disownment lasted less than three days because the entire family tested positive for a particular contagious illness. Well, everyone save my boyfriend, whose expulsion from the family home allowed him to dodge getting infected. My boyfriend negotiated, and in exchange for bringing in vital supplies like food and toiletries to the quarantining family for the next ten days or so, his dad would rescind his disownment.

Fast forward another five months or so, and the A-level results come back. [Boyfriend] scored two Bs and got disowned for the third time.

Me: “You know, most people don’t even get disowned once, much less three times.”

Boyfriend: “I mean, depending on how you count it, this is arguably still my first disownment. Just, you know, resuming after a year-long hiatus.”

Me: “But what about the second time? You still got disowned at least twice!”

Boyfriend: “Does the second time even count? I mean, it was just three days. It just felt like longer because of the isolation period.”

My Dad: *Amused* “I’m reminded of that quote. ‘If I had a nickel for every time I was disowned, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.’”

Me: “Seriously, though. [Boyfriend], you’re the only person I know who has a dedicated ‘Emergency Disownment Bag’. I mean, who even keeps an emergency backpack at home for the off chance that they get disowned?!”

Boyfriend: “Don’t people keep travel bags? Like suitcases fully packed for whenever they need to travel? It’s basically the same thing.”

Me: “It’s not the same thing!”

My Mom: *Laughing* “Lighten up, [My Name].” *To my boyfriend* “Well, if your family doesn’t want you, we can always adopt you. Stay as long as you like. You’re always welcome here.”

My Dad: “I bet you fifty pounds that [Boyfriend] will get disowned a fourth time. Any takers?”

My Mom: “No bet. That’s just you stealing my money.”

Boyfriend: “How about I bet you fifty pounds that I get disowned at least twice more before 2030?”

Me: “Don’t even joke about that!”

Man, I love my boyfriend to bits, but seriously, who even gets disowned so many times that he can joke about it?

My boyfriend of two years and I have recently moved in together. However, as rent in our area is not cheap, we both need to be working full-time. I am a math teacher at a private school, and my boyfriend has been unemployed and living with his parents since he graduated from college. Now that he’s living with me, I expect him to pitch in financially.

It’s a bit like pulling teeth at first, but soon, he starts applying and getting interviewed for jobs. He’s a pretty smart, easy-going dude who just needs to be pushed a bit to get out of his comfort zone. After a few weeks of job hunting, he receives an offer for an executive assistant position at a local law firm, which he accepts. It’s excellent pay for the honor of running errands, making copies, and getting the lawyers’ coffee. Plus, it’s good hours, so he still has lots of time to chill out at home.

My boyfriend has a sense of humor that is very hit or miss. He’s accidentally burned some pretty important bridges in his life, due to not always “reading the room.” I’ve been working with him a lot on that, and the night before his first day of work, I remind him not to get too chummy with his new coworkers and superiors and keep working on understanding social cues. Then, I pack him lunch because I love him and see him off the next morning with a kiss.

I head to work, which wraps up about two hours before he’s done, and drive home… only to find my boyfriend sitting on the couch, eating dry cereal. I ask him without hesitation what happened.

Boyfriend: “I got fired.”

Me: “What?! But you only just started!”

Boyfriend: “I know.”

I’m ready to raise h*** in defense of my boyfriend… that is until he tells me the whole story. It turns out that one of the lawyers’ sons works the front desk at the firm and also happens to be on the spectrum. [Lawyer’s Son] is good at his job, but his father warned my boyfriend about one thing.

Lawyer: “We have a no-dog policy because of [Lawyer’s Son]. That means that no clients bring dogs in, no photos of dogs, nothing. He’s deathly afraid of them. Even the sound of a dog barking can set him off. He’s had a bad history with dogs, so please be mindful.”

That’s not too bad of a restriction, I think. My chill, seemingly awesome boyfriend can handle these instructions, right? Wrong. Turns out, as he was leaving for his lunch break, he thought it would be hilarious to show [Lawyer’s Son] a video of a young puppy squealing for its food. It apparently caused such a meltdown that [Lawyer’s Son] needed to go home early, and my boyfriend was fired effective immediately by phone call as he was ordering his lunch.

As soon as he’s done regaling me with this shocking saga, he looks up at me as if expecting sympathy. Au contraire, mon ami. I am f****** LIVID.

Me: “So, let me see if I got this. You managed to land a job that pays you well, has flexible hours, and even provides you benefits. I tell you to remember to be respectful on your first day. And you promptly traumatize a f****** coworker mere hours after you start — whose dad you work for, mind you — and you think that’s gonna fly?!”

Boyfriend: “I didn’t think it was that serious!”

He had every excuse prepared for me — that the phobia couldn’t have been that bad, that the puppy in the video wasn’t threatening at all, that [Lawyer’s Son] was overreacting, etc. I didn’t buy any of it. He slept on the couch that night, and I deeply reconsidered the whole arrangement.

HE ultimately broke up with ME because I was “too harsh on him” and “acted too much like his mom” when he subsequently slacked off on any further job hunting.

Last I heard, he was living in a mobile home with some college buddies, making minimum wage. I wound up rooming with a woman whom I ended up marrying. I eventually stopped by the law firm to apologize for my now ex-boyfriend’s behavior. It turns out that [Lawyer’s Son] volunteers for a cat shelter — he has no problem with our feline friends — and my wife and I have adopted two cats from the same organization based on his referral. Livin’ the dream!

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