(My sex drive is considerably higher than my boyfriend’s, which isn’t usually a problem, except occasionally when he’ll worry that he’s pressuring me into sex, which at least with me, is virtually never the case. We’re talking about this at one point.)

Me: “With me, you can basically assume that if you want sex, I’ll also be down for it, and on the one-in-a-thousand chance that I’m not, I’ll just let you know. I’m like a siren, except less likely to lure you in and drown you.”

Boyfriend: “Are sirens known for being lustful? I thought they were mostly about the drownings.”

Me: “Hmm. A succubus then? Or a lamia, except less likely to steal your body heat?”

Boyfriend: “Now that’s a total lie; you steal my body heat constantly! We go to sleep, and you’re like, ‘Mmmm, come here; you’re so warm,’ and then I feel your icy feet!'”

Me: “Okay, we’ve found it. I’m a lustful lamia, except more likely to annoy you with cold feet than to freeze you to death!”

(A year later, he still uses “lamia” as a pet name. It very much amuses me!)

(My brother-in-law organizes events. I have just received a bunch of flyers and other stuff which I plan on taking to my school to promote one of his festivals. Also, my boyfriend and I have recently seen a TV ad for schnitzels you can cook in a toaster. He and his friends are thrilled and discuss if they should get some to sell, amongst other items of junk food, at their hangout place. I am at home when the phone rings.)

Boyfriend: “Hey, what’s up? I’m at [Hangout Place] right now. Do you want to come, too?”

Me: “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Boyfriend: “Oh, and do you mind bringing a toaster?”

Me: “Ummm, okay. I’ll bring one.”

Boyfriend: “Okay, see ya.”

(I assume the guys did buy those schnitzels only to realize they don’t have a toaster, so I grab mine and head to the hangout place. I arrive to a crowd of about fifteen guys, all of them completely hysterical. I just stand there, baffled and still holding the toaster, until the laughter dies down.)

Me: “What’s wrong? [Boyfriend] asked me to bring a toaster?”

Boyfriend: *barely containing his laughter* “Noooo, dear, I asked you for one of [Brother-In-Law]’s posters. You know, for [Festival].”

(I have yet to live this one down.)

This story is part of our Junk Food Day roundup!

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(My long-term boyfriend and I are regulars at a comic book shop, and often talk with the staff while we browse. On this day, there’s a young man and a younger woman working.)

Young Man: “My girlfriend’s birthday is just a few days after Valentine’s Day. February is a real minefield for me.”

Me: “Sorry to hear that. I find it so much easier to not focus on arbitrary dates like that. Huh, baby?”

Boyfriend: “What’s that?”

Me: “We don’t worry about Valentine’s Day, do we?”

Boyfriend: “No, thank god.”

Young Woman: “You have to be careful about that.”

Me: “Pardon?”

Young Woman: “Well, I mean, I tell my boyfriend I don’t really care, but of course I do care.”

Me: “What? Then why tell him you don’t care?”

Young Woman: “Because he should know.”

Me: “You… expect him to read your mind? I really don’t get this.”

Young Woman: *impatiently* “I’m a girl! Of course I care!”

Me: “I’m a girl. I don’t care.”

Young Woman: “Well, you have to be careful about believing that! We all care!”

Me: “I am standing here saying that I don’t care. You’re not hearing it second hand from [Boyfriend]. I don’t care.”

Young Woman: “Yeah, right, you won’t dump him if he just skips Valentine’s Day.”

Me: “We have been together for five years. We’ve skipped every Valentine’s Day. I. Don’t. Care.”

Young Woman: “Well, you really have to be careful about that. I would dump my boyfriend if he skipped Valentine’s Day after I told him I didn’t care about it.”

Me: “Oh, my god! You’re the reason women are stereotyped as unreasonable! Thanks a lot for that! Is it really so frickin’ hard to just say what you mean?”

Young Woman: “He should know!”

Me: *to Boyfriend* “Don’t you dare get me anything this year.”

Boyfriend: “I was thinking of getting you a new tablet sometime this month. If you want to call that a Valentine’s gift, we can.”

Me: “No, let’s not call it anything. But that’s very very sweet; I do need a new one.”

Boyfriend: “Okay, want to go look at tablets?”

Me: “I love you.”

Young Woman: *as we’re leaving* “Don’t believe it! She wants jewelry!”

(I’m in the car with my ex and his new girlfriend. We are in our 20s, and although she is nice, she sometimes seems kind of… airheaded.)

New Girlfriend: “…so, my grandparents had two Dalmatians and they had puppies. But one of them was a black lab. Have you ever heard of that? A purebred black lab from two Dalmatians?!”

Me: *trying not to laugh, while keeping a straight face towards the road* “Yeah, I’ve never heard of that. A purebred.”

Ex: *in backseat face-palming*

(My boyfriend and I are discussing a Facebook post wherein a guy referred to his girlfriend as “Butterscotch.”)

Boyfriend: “I promise never to call you ‘Thingamajig.’ Or ‘Butterfinger.’ Or ‘Lollipop.’ Because calling your girlfriend a food item sounds pretty degrading.”

Me: *interjecting* “Belgian Waffle.”

Boyfriend: “You’re likening someone you say you love to something you chew up into tiny bits, swallow, suck out everything good left in it, and excrete out 24 hours later.” *pause* “Buttermilk Pancake.”

Me: “Green bean.”

Boyfriend: “Crab Cake.”

Me: “Tater tot.”

Boyfriend: “Cheese biscuit.”

Me: “Okay, we could do this literally forever.”

Boyfriend: “We could!”

Me: “Let’s not.”

Boyfriend: “Okay, Bacon Cheeseburger.”

(To his credit, he did actually stop after that last one.)