When I was younger, I dressed like an idiot. I had this one pair of ridiculously comfortable gray corduroy pants, which I loved because they had an embroidered record on the butt. I wore these pants just about every day. I’m short, so the bottoms were all ripped up from dragging on the ground all the time.

I’m at a friend’s place, with her six-year-old daughter sitting next to me. We were watching some show and talking about high heels.

Six-Year-Old: “Why do people wear things that make their feet hurt?”

Me: “Sometimes, you have to sacrifice comfort for beauty.”

Six-Year-Old: *Points to my pants.* “Those must be reeeally comfortable!”

A few years back, I’m swimming with my three-year-old son. We had the pool to ourselves apart from one other lady.

The pool is L-shaped, split into the main bit with lanes, and a square bit that was notionally the kids’ pool, but only because it’s shallower.

My son was learning to swim without armbands, and so we were in the wide lane, while the lady was swimming in the narrow lane, labelled Adults Only.

After one length of my son swimming a whole length with me encouraging him, she says:

Lady: “You can’t swim here; this is adults only.”

Bull-s*** lady, you’re in the adults-only bit. Except, I can’t say that in front of my very eloquent three-year-old.

Me: “It’s just your lane that’s adults only, look, there’s the sign. My son is learning to swim lengths.”

She starts ranting at me about how she pays her membership fees (so do I, funnily enough) and I’m wrong (check the sign) and basically having a tantrum.

Lady, I’m Mum to a three-year-old. I can handle this behaviour, and I’m gonna speak to you exactly as I would to my child, probably in the same tone of voice, because I’m in Mummy mode, and my son is listening.

Me: “I can see you’re upset about this, but I’m very sorry, we are allowed to swim here.”

She rants a bit more, and I very calmly gentle parent her, until she eventually sputters and tells me:

Lady: “Shut up!”

And flounces off.

Son: “Mummy! She just told you to shut up! That’s so rude!”

I made no effort to speak quietly and said:

Me: “Yes, it really was. She was cross because she couldn’t get her own way. But you’re right, it’s very rude to say that to someone.”

We then proceeded to swim a good few more lengths, and I very vocally and cheerfully encouraged him the whole time.

Went to the front desk after to double-check I was right (I was). Apparently, she’d also been to complain and been told to suck it up.

I was doing a spot of fill-in shopping at a nearby supermarket and found myself queueing for the checkouts behind a woman with a baby in a car seat on her shopping cart, and a very sulky-looking daughter stood to one side. The cashier scans a comic for a kids’ television programme and bravely decides to engage the daughter in conversation.

Cashier: “Oh, I like that programme, is that for you, dear?”

Little Girl: *Grumpily.* “Yes, it’s to cheer me up!”

Cashier: “Oh? And why do you need cheering up?”

Little Girl: “Because you didn’t have a trolley with two seats, so I had to walk round the store while he—” *Gesturing to the baby.* “—gets to ride!”

Cashier: “Oh, I’m sorry, if there’s anything I can do to help?”

Little Girl: “Can you take the baby back?”

Cashier: *Holding back a laugh.* “Do you still have the receipt?”

The little girl shook her head sadly.

Cashier: “Oh, that’s too bad. Without a receipt, I’d only be able to exchange it for another one, sorry!”

The girl nodded and looked thoughtful for a moment.

Little Girl: “Could you exchange for one that’s less pooey!?”

I work in a small family-owned shop that sells a variety of hardware and homewares. Today, a family came in with their very small daughter. I’m terrible at guessing ages, but she can’t have been older than six or so. I’m busy facing up the garden section when I hear her loudly and enthusiastically exclaim:

Little Girl: “FANNY!”

Whatever the equivalent of a double-take is for something you’ve heard rather than something you’ve seen, I did it.

For context, I live in the UK. “Fanny” doesn’t mean the same thing here that it does in the US. It doesn’t mean “butt”. It means “lady-bits”. Her mum clearly has the same record-scratch moment that I did, because she asks:

Customer: “…Did you just say fanny?”

Little Girl: “FANNY!”

She seems very excited about it.

The whole time they’re browsing around the shop, I can hear her going:

Little Girl: “FANNY! FANNY!”

I’m starting to wonder if I’m mishearing her. Finally, they get to the till, and I go to ring them up. As I’m scanning their things, she points to the box of battery-operated handheld fans that we have on the counter.

Little Girl: “FANNY!”

Her mum looks relieved to finally understand and tries to give the kid a graceful out.

Customer: “Oh. You mean fans.”

Little Girl: “Fanny! Mummy, can I have one?”

At this point, the woman is obviously trying not to laugh, and the dad looks like he’s dying inside. I’m trying to keep my face giving “isn’t that cute”. They pay and leave very quickly, and my coworker and I have a good giggle once they’re gone.

They did not get their daughter a fanny. I’m very disappointed for her.

My father-in-law lives on a farm out in the Brazilian countryside. I didn’t grow up in the country and have always been careful around any creepy crawlies in case they have a nasty surprise. As you can imagine, when visiting the farm, there is a good mix of insects, spiders, snakes, and even scorpions to be aware of.

I am playing with my five-month-old son in the front room when I look up and see a spider about the size of my hand crawling up the sofa about a metre away. I grab the baby and go and find my husband (the native).

Me: “[Husband], there is a giant spider on the sofa, can you have a look and see if it is safe or not?”

Husband: “Oh, [My Name], it can’t be that bad.”

It should be said, I am not afraid of spiders or things like that, and have never exaggerated about one in my life. He gets up to have a look and immediately swears loudly. This attracts the attention of one of the housekeepers there, who immediately runs off to grab the bug spray once she has caught a glimpse of it.

Me: “So… that’s a bad one, huh?”

Husband: “Ah, it would give you a nasty bite, but probably wouldn’t kill you.”

Me: *Still holding my son.* “And the baby?”

Husband: *After a few seconds.* “It might kill the baby, yeah.”

Welcome to the tropics!