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Didn’t Quite Steal My Heart

, , , , | Romantic | July 9, 2014

(I meet a guy at a club I like and we flirt for a night. A week later I run into him again on base but he seems uninterested. I am disappointed, but not extremely upset since I barely know him. I never see him again and would have forgotten about it except for the odd conversation I have with an angry girl a few months later.)

Angry Girl: “There you are! Stop trying to steal my man from me! He’s MY husband!”

Me: “That guy? I met him at the club ONCE. He didn’t even know you then.”

Angry Girl: “I know you’re trying to steal my husband! Stop lying about it!”

Me: “Seriously, I don’t want him. That was months ago.”

Angry Girl: “Just stay away from him!”

(I never did figure out why she was so fixated on the concept of me stealing a man I’d only met twice, but over the course of the next year she keeps accusing me of trying. Even after their divorce she tries picking fights with me.)

Angry Girl: “Well, I have my revenge now! How does it feel? I stole your boyfriend [Marine] from you!”

Me: “Um, I broke up with him a few weeks ago. We agreed to date other people again. He’s free to be with whomever he wants.”

Angry Girl: “No, you’re lying! I stole him!”

Me: “Whatever.”

(I’m not sure which made [Marine] more angry, though… to find out that she had gone after him to date in revenge for her imagined issues with me, or that she decided to be in a relationship because she needed someone to clean her house for her so she wouldn’t be evicted.)

Love’s Labours Lost

, , , , | Romantic | March 31, 2014

(I’ve been chatting up a girl I met through an online dating service. We have a good deal in common, and have hit it off almost immediately. She has recently told me how she used to secretly name the chickens on the farm where she grew up, and we’ve since moved on to other subjects, thoroughly enjoying the banter. For the record, I’m very active in the local theatre, and admittedly have exceedingly high standards when it comes to dating.)

Woman I Like: “I’ve never been able to go to Red Lobster since I was a kid. I always feel so bad for the lobsters in the tank.”

Me: “You don’t have to order them, you know.”

Woman I Like: “I know, but they’re still going to be ordered at some point.”

Me: “But they’re delicious, so it’s not like their sacrifice is in vain.”

Woman I Like: *jokingly* “You’re heartless. You know that, right?”

Me: “I had an inkling.”

Woman I Like: “Seriously, though. When I was a kid, I kept asking my dad to buy them so I could set them free.”

Me: “Where would you have put them?”

Woman I Like: “The pond behind my house.”

Me: “You know lobsters are salt-water creatures, right?”

Woman I Like: “I was eight. I had no concept of salinity.”

Me: “Did you name them too?”

Woman I Like: “Maybe…”

Me: “What did you name them?”

Woman I Like: “…Ted.”

Me: “You named all the lobsters Ted?”

Woman I Like: “Well, a few of them.”

Me: “And then they were eaten.”

Woman I Like: *laughing* “Yes! It’s horrible! I feel so bad for Ted!”

Me: “Don’t worry, I’m sure he was properly eulogised. ‘Alas, poor Ted! I knew him, [Woman I Like], a lobster of infinite zest. He had borne me in his claws a thousand times.” Okay, I’m done.

Woman I Like: *confused* “Okay… Done with what?”

Me: “Parodying Hamlet.”

Woman I Like: “Parodying what?”

Me:Hamlet, the Shakespeare play. The bit where he’s holding the skull…”

Woman I Like: “Oh, sorry. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

(We saw each other a couple of times after that, but it was really over at that point. The theatre geek in me just couldn’t let me get past it.)

This story is part of the Shakespeare roundup!

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Beware Of Boyfriends Bearing Bear Gifts

, , , , , , | Romantic | February 20, 2014

(I meet a guy through a popular online dating website. We meet up for coffee, and we “click” and have a great time. Unfortunately, around the time we meet, I am getting ready to travel out of state for six weeks. We exchange cell phone numbers and text regularly about life, silly stuff, and our mutual enjoyment of cute animals. We also exchange flirty, though not terribly explicit, texts that hint at all the fun we will have when I get back.)

Guy: “I could always help you out with that… if you ever need someone to be helpful with taking care of yourself.”

Me: “Oooooh, yes. How will I ever find a way to repay you for helping me?”

Guy: “I’m sure we can come up with something. I enjoy many forms of being helped.”

Me: “I can’t wait to get back.”


Me: “…”


(When I got back, I gave him a little stuffed polar bear but told him that he wasn’t allowed to be distracted by it when we’re being intimate. We started dating and have been together for two years. So far, no polar bears have interrupted our “helping” of each other.)

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Police Work Is Child’s Play, Part 2

, , , , | Working | December 27, 2013

(I am in a retail store with my boyfriend looking for something for my 25th birthday. We are holding hands most of the time. At the till, I see a cashier watching us.)

Cashier: “Okay. That’s $10.” *my boyfriend pays* “Thanks.”

Me: “[Boyfriend], I feel tired. Can we go to the car?”

Boyfriend: “Yeah. Of course, sweetie.”

(He goes. I see the cashier smiling at me.)

Cashier: “You want to buy anything else? Make-up? Music CDs? There’s some skinny jeans 70 percent off.”

Me: “No, thanks. My boyfriend and I just want to go.”

Cashier: “Boyfriend?”

Me: “Yeah?” *nervous* “Are you hitting on me?”

Cashier: *alarmed* “No! No.”

(I think nothing of it. A little way down the street I see a police car behind us. My boyfriend pulls over and to our surprise, the car stops behind us.)

Boyfriend: “Is the tail-light out?”

Officer #1: “Sir, could you step out, please?”

Boyfriend: *confused* “Sure.”

Officer #2: *to me* “I just need your name, miss.”

Me: “What’s going on? I promise, we weren’t drinking or anything, I just want to know why my boyfriend’s been pulled over.”

Officer #2: “It’s nothing to worry about. You’re safe.”

Me: “Wait, what—”

Officer #3: “[Officer #1]!”

(I see out the rear mirror the officer has picked up our shopping. Inside the shopping bag are magazines, both fashion and car, alcohol, little packets of cookies, cookie mix, and condoms. Also inside are some birthday candles, which the officer is holding. I hear the first officer shout at my boyfriend, but I can hardly work any out.)

Officer #1: “YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE, MISTER! Get in the car now!”

Boyfriend: “Look, I…”

Officer #1: “DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH TROUBLE YOU’RE IN? I’m taking your phone and when we get to your house. We’re taking your laptop and any other evidence at the house. We also need to contact this girl’s parents. If they’re covering for you, that’s sick.”

Me: *to [Officer #2]* “What’s going on? Why is he being arrested? Has he done something?”

Officer #2: “It’s okay now, [My Name]. I need to ask you some questions. They may not be nice, but I need an answer.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I see my boyfriend being taken in the police car and driven away. I begin to get tense and play with my hair.)

Officer #2: “When’s your birthday?”

Me: “[Date].”

Officer #2: “How old are you going to be?”

Me: “Milestone birthday.”

Officer #2: “Okay, milestone. So what? 13? 16? 18?”

Me: “What? 25!”

Officer #2: “25!” *talks in radio* “Er, [Officer #1], we kind of need to talk.”

Me: *beginning to realize* “Oh, my God. Look. I can prove it! Here’s my driver’s license. My parents have a ton of photos at home of me in the last five years, and I got my graduate certificate somewhere… Just… who reported it?”

Officer #2: “A cashier. We got a picture of some girl aged eleven to sixteen, hard to tell in that bomber jacket, being taken out by a man in his late twenties, early thirties. Plus, what we found in the shopping bag…”

Me: “Oh, God. I feel soooo bad.”

(My boyfriend was released from the cells soon after. A couple of days later, I turned 25. I have to say, it was the most embarrassing part of remembering how old I really am!)


The Best And Worst Idea To Date

, , , , , | Related | December 9, 2013

(I am out with my two young sons when I run into a friend. We get on the topic of him taking a girl out on a first date in New York City.)

Friend: “I was thinking of taking her on a buggy ride in Central Park, followed by a romantic dinner, and then a Broadway musical.”

Me: “Ooh, nice.”

(My six-year-old son decides to interject.)

Son: “Excuse me. Can I say something?”

Me: “No. Go play with your brother.”

Friend: “That’s okay. Let’s hear it.”

Me: “You will regret this.”

Friend: “Let the kid talk.”

Son: “Uhm, buggy ride? Are you crazy? It’s stinky and it’s bumpy. That girl will not like to eat dinner after a buggy ride.”

Friend: “Have you been on a buggy ride?”

Son: “Plenty of times. My brother loves it. But it’s the most disgusting thing in New York City. You see the horse’s butt the entire time. Stinky. And the ride is so bumpy you get a bellyache, and you wanna throw up.”

Friend: “So, I’ll skip the buggy ride, then?”

Son: “I’m not finished. Why don’t you have dinner first? Then, if your girl is being nice, take her to Broadway. If she’s not nice, then you take her to the buggy ride.”

Friend: “And the reason for the buggy ride is…?”

Son: “So she throws up! Weren’t you listening to my story? You need to learn how to listen.”

Friend: *to me* “What the h*** kind of things have you been teaching your kids?!”

Me: “I really don’t know…”

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