My father-in-law remarried when his sons were adults, and the sons refused to call his new wife their stepmother. I always wondered why they disliked her so much because she was very cordial the two or three times I had met her thus far.

During Christmas, the family came together. My brother-in-law was about to become a second-time father and proudly announced:

Brother-In-Law: “Yesterday, we received the news: it’s going to be a girl this time!”

We all rejoiced, except for [Father-In-Law]’s wife.

Father-In-Law’s Wife: “A girl? Are you sure? The doctor must be mistaken.”

Brother-In-Law: “I’d like to think this woman knows what she is talking about.”

Father-In-Law’s Wife: “Impossible. Men in our family only have sons!”

Our family? You married into this one!

My Husband: “Eh… what about Aunt [Father-In-Law’s Sister]?”

Father-In-Law’s Wife: “Just a fluke. And she looks like a man, anyway. So, mark my words, it’s going to be a boy! Otherwise, you should get a paternity test.”

Everyone stared at each other, lost for words. In hindsight, [Brother-In-Law] should have gotten up and left, or someone should have spoken up, but we were just too stunned to do or say anything. 

[Father-In-Law] passed away a few months after his last grandchild’s birth — she was indeed a girl — and it seems only I can remain civil to her, so I am her main source of contact concerning the testament and will. I completely understand why my husband’s family doesn’t want to talk to her at all.

I boarded a full flight, took my seat, and waited for takeoff. A woman was standing in the aisle holding her child — maybe five years old — in her arms, looking distressed.

Woman: “How can we not be seated together? I have to be with my baby!”

Attendant: “Okay, where are your seats?”

Woman: *Pointing* “Mine is this window and hers is the middle behind me.”

Attendant: “Okay.”

She addresses the older woman sitting in the middle seat in the same row as the distressed mother.

Attendant: “Miss, would you be willing to switch seats with the child behind you so she can sit with her mother?”

Woman: “No, that’s my mother. She’s elderly; she can’t be moved.”

Attendant: “Okay.”

Now she addresses the woman sitting in the window seat beside the child.

Attendant: “Miss, would you be willing to switch seats with the child behind you so she can sit with her mother?”

Woman: “That’s my sister! What is wrong with you?”

She points to the six seats taking up two rows.

Woman: “This is my family.”

Attendant: “So… you’re all together.”

Woman: “Yes! But I’m supposed to be sitting with my daughter.”

Attendant: “Well, if they’re all your family, perhaps one of them can switch with one of you so—”

Woman: “No! I will not make my family move!”

Attendant: *Throwing her hands in the air* “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am. You can sit with your family, and your daughter can be with her aunt, or—”

Woman: “You are useless!“

Attendant: “I am about to have you removed from this flight.”

Woman: *Quietly* “Please don’t.”

Attendant: “Your daughter is sitting with family. If you don’t want to trade or have someone trade with you, there is nothing I can do.” 

The woman scooted into her window seat, her daughter sitting in the middle behind her. I’ve thought about this moment off and on for years and still cannot determine what she wanted the attendant to do.

When I was five years old, my family went to dinner at a well-known Mexican restaurant. Our table wasn’t ready, but as a courtesy, they allowed us to sit at a smaller spot and have some chips and salsa — and margaritas for the adults — while we waited.

Then, our table was ready, and we could move over there. Helpful little five-year-old me carried the basket of chips… and my dad’s margarita.

Cue a chorus of adults trying to stop the child from carrying the alcohol. 

And that’s how I learned that was illegal.

When [Friend] told me this story, I just HAD to get her permission to share it. She gave it, so here we go. Fair warning: I fear the number of IQ points that may be lost in reading this.

[Friend] started dating [Idiot] about two years before this incident. Things seemed to be going all right between them. She told me he was a bit of a derp and sometimes incredibly oblivious to some things. He couldn’t pick up subtle cues, and even suggestions flew over his head with about a mile of airspace between his skull and the suggestion. She originally chalked it up to him being on the autism spectrum, as she has a few other friends who have similar problems picking up cues. So, she just switched her behavior from “talking to neurotypical” to “talking to neurodivergent”, and the bumps smoothed out for a while.

All was well and good.

Then, the talk of taking the relationship seriously came up — marriage, becoming a family, etc.

And that’s when the relationship began to die.

[Idiot] announced that he wanted to DNA test [Friend]’s kids to make sure they were his — the kids who were five and three when [Friend] and [Idiot] started dating.

[Friend] said she had to come to a full stop in the conversation for several seconds while her brain rebooted.

Friend: “They’re not your kids. You know they’re not. My ex-husband and I had them together before I ever met you.”

Idiot: “Yeah, and now that we’re getting married, they’ll become mine. I just want to DNA test them to be sure of it.”

Friend: “Let me see if I understand this. Do you… Do you actually think my children’s DNA will… change… to become biologically yours?”

Idiot: “Obviously. I just want the confirmation on paper, is all.”

There was a long conversation about how DNA didn’t work that way, with his rebuttal that adopting them would make them BECOME his. Then, there had to be a conversation about how becoming his children would only happen on paper, and in the legal system. She had to explain that, no, the children would NOT magically transform into his own biological children once the paperwork was filled out. He kept insisting that EVERYBODY said the kids became theirs once adoption happened. She explained the concept of “adopted children are loved just as much as if they were biological”, and that was what that meant. He insisted that everything pointed to kids BECOMING “theirs.”

[Friend]’s mom eventually had to become involved to back [Friend] up. His DAD had to become involved to back [Friend] up. A few books had to get involved to back [Friend] up.

[Idiot] was furious! He couldn’t understand why people would EVER adopt a kid if the kid didn’t “become” the actual, biological child of the people who took them in. He went on about how stupid and selfish it was for kids to retain the DNA of the sperm or egg donor! How could any kid who wanted to be adopted REFUSE to change one little thing so they could have parents?! “DNA doesn’t work that way” is a bulls*** excuse!

He ranted and raved, and right in front of his own parents, he told her that if her kids weren’t going to become his kids, then the marriage wasn’t going to happen.

He told her that he would give them all a week to change their minds and agree to be his biological kids. He said that WHEN they stopped being selfish, and WHEN the DNA test proved it, he would take the kids in.

Friend: *To me* “And that’s how the relationship ended.”

Me: “Uhhhh, wait. Hang on. Was he just looking for an excuse to break it off? Did he just get cold feet, or want to date around some more, or…?”

Friend: “Nope. He really is just that stupid. His mom called me on the sly and very gently suggested that I just break it off with [Idiot], because no matter how much she and his dad talk to him, he’s adamant about it. He’s even saying that he will never date a woman with kids from here on out unless they agree to change their DNA to become his if the relationship becomes serious.”

So, [Friend] is single again, having dodged a tactical nuke.

For the record, the father of [Friend]’s kids is still fully in the kids’ lives, has full parental rights, and has 50/50 custody, so adoption wasn’t even on the table. It just didn’t come up in the conversation due to the stupidity of the DNA topic taking over [Friend]’s brain space.

It’s an incredibly busy Friday night. We are on a waitlist, so tables are seated within a minute of people getting up. I get a table of six, including a baby who I’m guessing is about eighteen months old.

I get their drink orders, but they’re not ready to order. I check on them a few times over about twenty minutes, answering questions, but they keep telling me they are not ready to order, but no big deal.

Just as I have one table that’s ready to be sat and another that is just finishing dessert but has their check, they flag me down and say they are ready to order. I take the first person’s order as my next table is being sat, and the mother of the baby orders for herself.

Me: “And anything for the little one?”

Mother: “Yes, just a moment.” *Turns to the baby* “[Child], would you like a hamburger or chicken?”

The child looks at the mother like they don’t know what’s going on, and the mother repeats the question a few times. After about a minute of waiting, I glance at the next person, who started ordering. We both seem to think that I can get the rest of the order while the mother figures it out. The mother gives dirty looks to me and the person who began ordering.

Mother: *To the person ordering* “You’re being rude. It’s [Child]’s turn to order.”

She then goes through the process of trying to get a choice out of her baby, who obviously doesn’t understand the question. After a minute, I see my next table looking around. I wave at them and gesture that I’ll be with them in a minute. They smile and nod as I get another table. After another minute or so, I interrupt the mother’s repetitive question.

Me: “So, you seem to need a bit more time to decide. I have to go check on a couple of tables while you think it over.”

Mother: “No, you’re being rude to [Child]. She needs you to be patient, so she can learn. Besides, we have already been here forever, we are hungry, and we’re ready to order. No one wants to wait while the food for everyone who came in after us gets made.”

The person who tried to order before takes the opportunity to jump in and start ordering as I signal to another server to take the second table. The mother gives him a dirty look but seems to realize stopping him again would contradict herself, so she allows the rest of the table to order.

She keeps talking over everyone as they order, trying to get the baby to decide. The baby begins making indecipherable baby talk at the mother. I glance back at my other tables and see that the other servers have gotten the first table’s order in already. The second has their drinks and is placing their order with another server. After everyone else orders, I wait a few seconds before interrupting the mother.

Me: “Have you made a decision for the little one?”

Mother: “No. She is still thinking!”

Me: “Would it be all right if I went to ring in the rest of the food? Everyone else’s meals will take a lot longer than the kid’s, so she should still get her food with everyone else.”

Mother: “No, she just needs another minute. [Child], would you like a hamburger or chicken?”

The rest of the table begins claiming that they heard the baby order one item or another, but the mother won’t accept the baby’s mumbles as an answer. I start handing off checks to other servers to drop for me. Between the rest of the party’s frustration and the mother seeming to realize that I’m still running my section as I wait, she finally relents.

Mother: “Everyone, be quiet! [Child] is talking.”

The table quiets down, and the baby continues to make random babbling noises.

Mother: “See, everyone? She can order for herself. She said she wanted a hamburger, and since you said the kid’s meals are faster, will you ring in her first? It’s taken everyone way too long to order, and she is too hungry to wait for everyone else’s food.”

Me: “Sure, that’s no problem. I’ll be out with it as soon as I can.”

The rest of the table rolled their eyes and shook their heads, and I left as quickly as I could. I had rung up an order a few seconds before I began taking theirs, so I checked the time. It took eighteen minutes to get the order when it could have taken less than three if the mother had not insisted that the baby order herself. In that time, I had to give up two tables, and had a third leave a terrible tip and note about being waited on by other servers while I just talked to one table.