I am a ballet teacher. On this occasion, I am teaching a small group of six- and seven-year-old beginners.

Student #1: “Miss [My Name], why does ballet only count to eight?”

Me: “I’m not entirely sure. I think it’s because music is usually counted in four, and two sets of four is eight, but I don’t know for certain. The problem is that ballet is really old, so we don’t have many records of why things are the way that they are.”

Student #2: “Wait, how old is ballet?”

Me: “The earliest beginnings of ballet are over 600 years old.”

Student #1: “Woah… That’s even older than Disney Plus!”

A mother is checking out with her little girl, maybe four years old or so. The little girl is as cute as a button and keeps smiling up at me.

Me: “Hello! How are you doing today?!”

Little Girl: “I have a clitoris!”

Me: *To the mother, not skipping a beat* “Cash or card?”

CONTENT WARNING: Firearms

I’m eleven and volunteering part-time. A customer exits the library but sets off the alarm. Maybe he forgot to check out one of his books? We can just check that.

No. He pulls a revolver out of his back pocket.

Patron: “Guess this must have set it off.”

I’m eleven, and a very tall man is casually pointing a gun at me, so I say the only thing I can think of.

Me: “Sir, we ask that you don’t bring guns into the library; there are children. We’re closing in four minutes; did you need anything else?”

The children’s librarian scooped me into the AV closet until the patron left the parking lot.

This is my mom’s story. I have three younger sisters and no brothers. When my youngest sister was born, of course, lots of people offered congratulations and well wishes. When people — strangers, mind you — found out it was her fourth daughter, things got weird. Comments like, “No sons? I’m sorry,” or, “Oh, well, you tried,” were common.

One day at church, my sweet, strait-laced mother had enough.

Stranger: “Four girls! Aw, you were trying to have that boy.”

Mom: “Nope! We were trying to have sex.”

Years later, we were reliving the story at a party, and…

Mom: “Yep! And it was good sex!”

My parents got divorced when I was about five, shortly after my mom started law school. She would bring me to law school with her. I remember one class in particular, though I don’t remember the topic.

Mom: “All right now, you have to sit very quietly for two hours. Do you have something to do?”

I nodded silently and held up my little backpack. I didn’t really talk much back then. We sat in the very front row, a few seats left of the middle. 

Professor: “Oh, a new student! I expect you to keep up and take notes!”

I nodded dutifully and got out paper and crayons. I did try to pay attention, though I had little ability to understand. I drew a “My Little Pony” that I had brought with me. We would always sit in the same seats, and I would draw ponies. 

Professor: “Everyone, turn in your essays on your way out!”

I turned in a pony drawing.

Professor: “Wait, you don’t actually have to give me that!”

Me: *Whispers* “I want to.”

Shortly after that, I wasn’t allowed to come to class anymore. Another student complained that I was looking at her too much. I remember her. She was pretty.

As such, my law school career was short-lived. I’m pretty sure I got an A on that pony, though.