I’m a former professional costumer and I still love sewing and building props. My boyfriend and I met at a convention, and as you might imagine, we cosplay together at every opportunity. While I love making costumes, I don’t like wearing anything too complicated or heavy; I prefer lightweight and flattering. My boyfriend, on the other hand, loves elaborate costumes; the bigger and more impressive, the better. This suits us both beautifully; he buys the materials, I make both costumes, he’s my model, and I’m his handler since most of the masks tend to limit visibility.

At a recent convention, he is dressed as a many-eyed demon — a costume I am particularly proud of — and I am in a fairly simple kimono as a character from the same series. We’ve been getting compliments all day. Then, a guy stops us to get a better look.

Guy: “Dude, great costume!”

Boyfriend & Me: “Thanks!”

At this, the guy turns nasty and wheels around to glare at me.

Guy: “I wasn’t talking to you! What, did you thrift that outfit yourself?”

Boyfriend: “Dude… she’s the one who made this.”

Guy: “Big deal. You’re the one wearing it! Chicks are supposed to do s*** for their men, anyway.”

My boyfriend is a fairly big guy to begin with; with the costume’s mask and horns, he comes in at just about nine feet tall, and upon hearing this, he uses that to his advantage and LOOMS.

Boyfriend: “You need to leave, or I just might decide to harvest a few more human parts.”

The guy splutters and stomps off. A nearby demon slayer from a different series, who’s been watching the whole thing, grinned.

Slayer: “You both look great. Usually, I slay monsters, but in this case, I think the demon gets a pass. You want to hunt that guy, I won’t tell.”

Me: “Yep! He’s my favorite demon. He protects me from all the dangerous humans.”

Both of them had a good laugh at that, and when a few other people wandered over, the slayer wound up joining us in an ad hoc photoshoot.

I’ve been having a bad time: I was just laid off from my job, I caught my boyfriend with my best friend who threw me out of our shared apartment, and I started my period.

My sisters decide to take me out to my favorite restaurant for lunch and we order a nacho plate, fried pickles, chicken strips, cheeseburgers, and Cokes. The waiter appears after our food has arrived.

Waiter: “Got a lot of food there, ladies. Don’t you think you have enough?”

He laughs like it’s funny, but I burst into tears and start crying. My sister demands to see the manager, and the waiter puts up his hands.

Waiter: “Woah! Just a joke!”

Older Sister: “Manager, now!”

Younger Sister: “Don’t ever say that to a woman!”

The manager comes over and when he hears what happened, he gives us the entire meal for free, and he orders the waiter into his office. Minutes later, the waiter storms out, face red as a tomato, and he comes over to our table. 

Waiter: “I’m sorry, that was insensitive. I shouldn’t have said it. I honestly thought it would be funny.”

Pursuant to local law, we are currently requiring face coverings while customers are in the shop.

Associate: “Can you please put your mask back on?”

Customer: “Oh, okay, yeah. I just took it off because I needed to cough.”

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My boyfriend and I are helping my parents and a couple of aunts and uncles clean out my grandma’s old house so we can put it on the market. Since my grandma’s cat died a few years ago, she’s switched to using mouse traps, which just aren’t as effective, and we’ve been finding periodic mouse nests in the basement and attic.

As an unexpected bonus, my family offers that if my boyfriend and I want any of the stuff that’s been left behind, we’re welcome to it; anything we don’t take is getting donated. Since we just moved in together, we’re still working on setting up a household, and we happily amass a pile of pots, pans, tools, bookshelves, books, and, my favorite find of the day, two pairs of cross-country skis and poles. One pair of boots is too small for him, but the other pair will just about fit me, so when we take a break for lunch, I take them outside to check the condition.

Me: “They look pretty good! I’m guessing the mice found them, though. Once I empty out the mouse beans, they should be fine.”

Boyfriend: *Laughing* “Mouse beans? That’s a very polite way of putting it!”

Me: “Huh? What do you mean?”

Boyfriend: “Mouse beans? Definitely the cutest way of describing mouse poop I’ve heard.”

Me: *Laughing, too* “No, I’m being very literal. Here, look.”

Sure enough, the left ski boot was full of perfectly clean, dry pinto beans that the mouse must have stolen from my grandma’s pantry and cached for winter! Once my boyfriend got over his surprise, he had a good laugh, and the boots were in perfect condition, not a shredded corner or piece of mouse poop to be found. Apparently, mice follow the “don’t s*** where you eat” rule!

I work for a company that administers retirement benefits and I deal with a lot of simpletons on a daily basis. This man gets mad at me because he feels I’m not helping him fill out forms.

The paperwork comes with a checklist of which forms are needed. After trying several times — while he keeps interrupting — to tell him to take out the checklist so we can go through it together, I snap and tell him, “I’m trying to help but you keep interrupting me, so what exactly did you call us for?”

He finally shut up and let me assist.