My husband and I usually spend Thanksgiving with a close friend instead of going to our families’ homes. This year, our friend’s fifteen-year-old son invited his girlfriend, also fifteen. She is about as mentally stable and secure as most fifteen-year-old girls. She thinks [Son] should only do things they can do together, he should always hold her hand, and he should absolutely never talk to any other women.

As the only woman at the meal that [Son] is not related to, I am obviously a threat and she treats me as such. I was seventeen when [Son] was born and babysat him a lot growing up, so we are pretty close, but I’ve never looked at him as a prospective boyfriend.

I stopped drinking several months ago because of a complication with one of my medications, so I have been trying out different non-alcoholic substitutions. I bring a four-pack of this substitution to the gathering and put it in the garage. [Son] and [Girlfriend] are sitting out there by themselves. [Girlfriend] sees me and starts crawling in [Son]’s lap and trying to kiss his neck.

Me: “Hi there.”

Girlfriend: “Bye there.”

She waves me off.

Me: “What’s going on?”

She sits back in her seat and glares at me while [Son] gives me a fist bump and laughs.

When the meal is ready, we are all seated at the table. [Girlfriend] strolls in last, drinking one of my non-alcoholic beers and looking right at me.

Friend: “[My Name]…?

Me: “Yeah, that’s mine. What are you doing, [Girlfriend]?”

Girlfriend: “It’s not real beer, so it’s not illegal.”

Friend: “It’s also not polite to help yourself to things that aren’t yours.”

[Girlfriend] shrugs and keeps drinking.

Son: “Sorry, [My Name]. I’ll give you some cash for it.”

Girlfriend: “Why?”

Son: “Because you just stole that!”

Me: “Let’s just eat.”

Girlfriend: “It’s basically soda, anyway.”

[Girlfriend] chugs the rest of the drink. I don’t know if you know what happens when you down a carbonated beverage in a few seconds, but [Girlfriend] learns. She burps so loud, I think her throat is sore. [Son] laughs out loud and [Girlfriend] glares at me.

Throughout the meal, [Girlfriend] continues intercepting dishes as I ask for them, talking over me, and just being a classic mean girl.

When dessert comes, I bring out my pies and set one at each end of the table. When they come to her, [Girlfriend] picks one up and shouts. The glass plate lands on the floor upside-down.

Girlfriend: *With mock sadness* “Oh, no! It was too hot.”

The pies have been cooling for several hours by this point and are not hot at all. I’ve had enough, but I’m not going to yell.

Me: “That’s why grownups touch hot plates and children wait their turn. Go get—”

Girlfriend: “I’m not a child!”

Me: “Go get some towels to clean up.”

Girlfriend: “Kiss my a**, you ugly whore.”

Friend: “Hey! Absolutely not! You can go call your mom and have her pick you up.”

Girlfriend: “F*** you, too! This b**** is—”

Son: “Shut up!”

Girlfriend: “What?”

Son: “Go home.”

[Girlfriend] leaves the table and is picked up a few minutes later. Her mother is apologetic. It sounds like [Girlfriend] is a terror at home, too. As they leave, [Girlfriend] looks out the car window and waves, tears streaming down her face. [Son] turns away and walks back inside. We can hear (Girlfriend) screaming down the block.

Son: “When are girls less crazy?”

Me: “Ohhhh… probably a ten-year minimum.”

Son: “Oh, my God!”

The pastor of our church asked my husband and me if we would consider refinancing our home. Why? He felt it would be beneficial for us to “donate” the equity to the church to help build a new facility with a basketball court. It was the pastor’s “dream basketball court”, but he promised up and down that it would be for the church’s youth. He ended up convincing several families to donate their home equity toward his— I mean, the church’s project.

I flat-out refused. My husband was furious with me for refusing, and we had several escalating arguments over it. Coupled with pressure from the pastor, including a list of people who had already donated and several quotes from the Bible, it very quickly grew to a head.

I turned on my husband and told him he could keep the church in the divorce, but I was going to sell him our house and give him his half to do whatever the h*** he pleased with it. I made it completely clear that there was no way I was going to put my half of the divorce settlement toward this “project”.

In the end, everyone lost their money, and the building was never built. We have no idea where the pastor is to this day; he just disappeared shortly after enough money was donated.

I put the money down on a new home, and I’m very happy with my single life.

I’m sitting with my boyfriend of six years, and we’re about to watch a movie.

Boyfriend: “Hey, I need to talk to you.”

Me: “Is it about how you’ve been cheating on me with my best friend?”

My boyfriend is shocked.

Boyfriend: “How did you know that?!”

Now I was shocked. I was just making a joke, but this was better. I told my boyfriend that we were done and he needed to leave.

He left, and I confronted my best friend. She admitted to it, and I haven’t spoken to either of them since.

I used to teach tenth-grade English. One day, I assigned a twenty-minute writing prompt on the students’ dream life.

In my seventh period, I had a couple who had been dating for about three months. The boy was completely head-over-heels in love with his girlfriend, but he had some “unique” ideas.

After the twenty minutes were up, I asked for volunteers to share what they had written and the boy stood up to read his paper.

Boy: “My dream is to live off the grid in either Wyoming, Montana, or Alaska. I want to live in a cabin that I built with my own hands. I am going to have a farm and grow my own food, an orchard where I grow my own fruit, and cattle, chickens, and pigs that I’ll raise myself for meat. I’ll be living hours away from any real towns or cities and just have a completely free life where I can do whatever I want and be totally self-sufficient. My wife will help me build our cabin, she’ll bear our children right in our cabin, and we will homeschool them and teach them to live off of the land.”

Girl: “Um, I will definitely not be having our children in a cabin! I will be having my children in a hospital.”

Boy: “Honey, we’ll probably be three or four hours away from any hospital. Maybe more if we choose Alaska.”

Girl: “I am not giving birth four hours away from any sort of medical care!”

Boy: “You won’t have a choice. I won’t be able to get you to a hospital! You’ll be fine, I promise! I’ll know how to deliver a baby because I’ll have to help our cows have their calves.”

Girl: “Yeah, I don’t think this is going to work out.”

Surprisingly enough, they were no longer a couple the next day. He was much more heartbroken about it than she was.

I am a woman, and unfortunately, I am well-endowed in the chest area. By that, I mean that my breasts are disproportionately large to my body.

I have been struggling for some time with the complications that come with them. Constant back pain has been “normal” since my teenhood, and it soon started affecting my sciatic nerve. Medical care in the USA being what it is, I wasn’t able to get the option for breast reduction surgery until very recently. An appointment with a neurosurgeon finally switched the argument from “cosmetic and unnecessary” to “medically necessary” with my insurance.

The next problem came from, of all things, my boyfriend at the time.

Boyfriend: “Why are you talking about getting your breasts reduced? They’re fine.”

Me: “Unfortunately, they’re not, hun. They’re too big and too heavy for me.”

Boyfriend: “But they’re beautiful! Why are you being vain and trying to use a knife to change your appearance?”

Me: “Because it’s not about appearances; it’s affecting my health! Do you remember the doctor’s appointment I had the other day?”

Boyfriend: “Yeah, what about it?”

Me: “I got that appointment because the pain got so bad I couldn’t function. The doctor is a neurologist. She said I now have spinal damage and that I need to get them reduced.”

Boyfriend: “Can’t you, like, wear a custom back brace or something?”

Me: *Coldly* “No.”

Boyfriend: “Well, I don’t support you going under the knife to ruin your [rude word for breasts].”

That sparked one h*** of an argument, which ended with me saying:

Me: “If all you care about me for is my boobs, then you lose access to them, whether I get surgery or not! You’re a single man-child now!”

Then, I kicked him out and cried angry tears.

My surgery was a success, though the recovery was long due to complications with my back.

My ex-boyfriend went around all our social circles, saying:

Ex-Boyfriend: “I didn’t support it, and she did it anyway! I should have an equal say in our relationship, and she didn’t respect that!”

He expected everyone to have his back but got a nasty surprise when all of them clapped back, called him a d****e, and stopped hanging out with him. Luckily, I lost nearly 200 pounds, PLUS whatever weight I lost from the breast reduction, and I’m happy as can be.