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!

I’m hosting a three-year-old’s birthday party at a kiddie-themed venue, so lots of parents and their kids/toddlers are running around that we know from daycare.

 A couple walks in with their toddler son.

Parent: “Where can we put his bag in case you need anything?”

Me: *Confused by the question.* “Feel free to keep it at any table you choose to sit.”

Parent: “Oh, we’re just dropping off our little one. We’ll be back to pick him up after the party is done in a couple of hours.”

Me: “We cannot watch your child. We are only hosting the party; nobody here can be left responsible for watching your child. You will need to stay.”

Parent: “He is super simple to watch, and you won’t have a problem at all. Just call us if there is one.”

Me: “That will not be happening. Once again, we are busy hosting. You need to stay with your child.”

Parent: “Well, I guess he and the gift we brought will not be able to stay because we have shopping to do.”

Me: “Thank you for stopping by.”

They blankly stared at me, shocked that their threat did not work. Of course, their kid had a tantrum about having to leave so fast, so they stayed for the first half of the party. They still walked out with their gift, though (oh darn, one less random Amazon kid’s toy).

Who in their right mind thinks it is okay to drop off a three-year-old with people they have never met before, other than a daycare?

I’m in an ice cream shop, and another customer is there with a teenager, I assume is her daughter.

Customer: *Places order.*

Employee: “Okay, ma’am, your order number is six… seven.”

Customer: “Oh no!”

Customer’s Daughter: “Oh yes!”

Among other things, our community center houses a toddler library every Friday. They end at the same time that some of the language classes we host have their break. So, when the moms with the small children come flowing out of the library and want to order coffee and lunch, we’re already swamped with two classes.

Somehow those moms always remain blind to the chaos, and rattle off their orders faster than our register – not to mention us – can keep up, all the while their toddlers are running rampant and trying to get behind the counter.

When the classes go back to their classrooms and the moms and toddlers are all settled, my coworkers and I sit down for our own lunch. The moms have all congregated near the toy corner. Some toddlers are playing there. Some are running up and down the large stairway that houses books and board games in cabinets to the side. They don’t hesitate to fling books off shelves and onto the stairs. The mess is unbelievable. The moms don’t care.

The moms get ready to leave. Some toddlers cry out that they want to ‘help’ clear the tables. So off the moms send them… one tiny item at a time… to run behind the counter and place it wherever. One saucer goes there, one straw to the other place, a spoon disappears in another corner… etc., etc.

We have a table on wheels next to the counter where the dirty dishes go… but they don’t seem to realize this as they pass it at least ten times, all the while the moms are praising them from their seats to high heaven for doing such a good job cleaning it all up.

We’re looking on with weary eyes from our break table. I address my coworker, a young woman, but with the soul of a worn hospitality veteran.

Me: “Are we gonna let this happen, or are we allowed to step up?”

Coworker: “No use. They never listen. We’ll deal with it later; it’s literally not worth it.”

Eventually, the moms try to gather their children to put on their coats, all the while praising how helpful they’ve been. I see them literally stepping over some books their kids have flung down.

They finally leave.

I go over to their tables and see it still covered with paper wrappings, half-eaten raisin boxes, fruit peels (they’re not even allowed to bring their own food), and toys, muffin crumbs, and errant raisins strewn literally all over our communal area. One electric toy is still on, making a noise every few seconds, but is somehow nowhere to be found.

I try to tackle the mess and find pieces of muffin stuffed inside some of the toys. I finally find the noisy toy in a box that they put in a pot from the kitchen play set, which they then hid in the play kitchen cabinet.

My coworker comes over and simply sighs and shoves all the toys to the corner with her foot.

Coworker: “One of these days, I’m going to get a giant trash bag and chuck it all in there. People gotta start realizing we’re not a daycare, but somehow higher-ups refuse to let go of the play area.”

Me: “About time that higher-ups are going to clean it for once.”

Coworker: “They keep saying the moms are supposed to have that responsibility.”

Me: “Responsibility? You think they even know what that word means?”