(I have an unusual allergy that is very severe. I discovered in second grade that I was allergic to oil pastels, and have since realized that my allergy is airborne if people use the pastels around me. The unlikeliness of the allergy and the severity of it often lead people to believe it’s fake. However, this instance really takes the cake. Keep in mind that this person is a friend of mine that I have repeatedly talked to about my allergy.)

Me: “Man, I was really upset in physics today.”

Friend: “Why?”

Me: “Someone moved the pastel picture and set it on a counter next to my seat. I wish I knew who it was. I might have gotten some pastel on me!”

Friend: “Ha ha, yeah. That’d be pretty annoying.”

Me: “I mean, they might have just not known, but I’m still pretty frustrated. I would have put it back where it was, except, you know, I might have died.”

Friend: *pauses for a moment* “Oh, I get it! You mean like dying from being annoyed!”

Me: “No, I mean that, if left too long on my skin, my throat would close and I could die. Haven’t I told you this, like, three separate times?”

Friend: “Oh, yeah…”

(Boy, am I glad that he’s not in art class.)

(I have a friend who I tend to be jokingly evasive with when she asks me questions. I’m currently playing a game on my tablet.)

Friend: “Whatcha doin’?”

Me: “Nothing.”

Friend: “You’re playing a game, right?”

Me: “No.”

Friend: “Then whatcha doin’?”

Me: “Lookin’ at p*rn.”

Friend: “No, you’re not!”

Me: “Yup, I definitely am.”

Friend: “No, you definitely aren’t.”

Me: “I totally am.”

Friend: “If you were looking at p*rn, you wouldn’t be swiping your finger across the screen so much. You’d be jacking it.”

Me: “I’m zooming in on her butt cheeks.”

Friend: *after a few more seconds of me swiping around* “How many butt cheeks does she have?“

Me: “Way too many. I think it might be a medical condition.”

(Our friends [Friend #1] and [Friend #2] are a bit weird, not to mention forgetful.)

Friend #1: “Hey, do you guys want to come over Saturday afternoon and have a barbecue with [Friend #2] and me?”

Us: “Sure. What time? 3:00?”

Friend #1: Sounds good. See you then.

(We arrive on Saturday at 3:00.)

Friend #1: *visibly surprised to see us* “Oh, hi! Excuse me a second.” *leaves*

Me: *to my husband* “That was odd. I have a feeling he forgot he’d invited us over.”

Husband: “Same here.”

Friend #1: “So, here’s the deal, guys: you’re welcome to stay if you really want to, but [Friend #2]’s Wiccan friends are here, and they’re going to be starting their Solstice ceremony soon.”

Me: “Uh… What’s that?”

Friend #1: “Well, it involves stripping naked and dancing around a bonfire.”

Husband: “You know what? I think we’ll get going.”

Friend #1: *relieved* “That’s probably a good idea. Thanks for stopping by!”

(I’m kind of sorry that we didn’t stay, because it would have been interesting, to say the least. But we had our toddler with us, and that would have led to some awkward questions.)

My Muslim friend doesn’t drink, but she always thought it was funny when other people did and got a bit silly. Once we were having a small get-together and she decided she was going to mix us all cocktails. Even with our instructions telling her how much to put in, she made them strong; she used at least twice, if not three times as much alcohol as I would use.

Years later, she posted something on a social networking site about being a non-drinker and how annoying people were about it. I remembered this party and the cocktails, so I jokingly replied mentioning it. She went nuts at me, saying it never happened — maybe she doesn’t remember it but it happened — that she had never even touched the outside of a bottle of alcohol — a lie — and that I was malicious for posting it.

I realise that maybe I made a mistake posting publicly, as some of her Muslim friends and family might not know that she used to do things like that, and I have apologised for this. But I do not appreciate being called a liar.

(My uncle’s friend’s partner has taken a liking to my grandmother. My uncle warns my mother to keep an eye on this woman; he doesn’t trust her, as his friend told him she was a golddigger, which is why he never married her. We notice that she has manipulated my grandmother into giving her specific items that she likes. My grandmother lives in my parent’s house, and one day my mother finds a handwritten note on my grandmother’s table.)

Note: “I, [Grandmother], hereby adopt [Friend] as my daughter.” *signed and dated by [Grandmother]*

Mum: “What the hell is this?”

Grandmother: “Oh, I was going to give that to [Friend] when she’s here today.”

Mum: “Was this [Friend]’s idea?”

Grandmother: “Um… No, I thought it would be nice; she doesn’t have a family.”

Mum: “Has [Friend] seen this? Did you tell her that you wrote it?”

Grandmother: “No, not yet.”

Mum: “Please don’t do this again; I don’t trust her.”

Grandmother: “But she’s all alone; she’s got no family.”

Mum: “She’s got family and even grandchildren.”

(Mum made sure she stayed during the woman’s visit, happily telling the woman the story of how they had extended their house so that grandmother had her own rooms. She told me that the look on the woman’s face showed that she had thought that my grandmother owned the house.)