I live in a second-floor condo when this happens. One night, I’m watching a film and having a couple of beers. At 23:30, the outside doorbell rings.

Me: “Hello?”

Caller: “Police, open up now!”

Something isn’t right. It’s been a quiet night.

Me: “One minute, please. I’ll come downstairs.”

I walk down two flights of stairs. I open the door, confused, to find four police officers.

Me: “Can I help?”

Officer: “Is this 17 [Location]?”

Me: “Yes?”

Officer: “Open, mate, we have business to do.”

I stay where I am and hand him my police ID. It has my picture and name and says, “Sworn in [date one month ago]”.

Officer: “Oh, hello. We haven’t been introduced, I’m Sergeant [Officer].”

Me: “Reserve [My Surname]. What’s going on, Sarge?”

Officer: “A hoax emergency call was placed for an ambulance to this address. Do you know anything?”

Me: “Huh? A hoax ambulance call? Not me.”

Officer: “Is there anyone else on the property?”

Me: “My roommate. Speak to him if you like; he doesn’t know much English. What’s the address again?”

Officer: “17 [Location] Boulevard, [postcode].”

I’m annoyed. He’s got the wrong address; a cop should know the area. It also isn’t how I planned to introduce myself to a superior officer.

Me: “Sergeant [Officer], this condo block is [Location] Plaza, not [Location] Boulevard. Can I help you find [Location] Boulevard?”

Police: “Please.”

Me: “Street over there. Odd numbers are on the left.”

Clarity, people. Google Maps is there for a reason.

My fianceé and I both have a weird sense of humor. It’s what drew us to each other. One night, we’re both lying in bed, about to go to sleep, when she farts under the covers. I’m usually the one that has the most foul-smelling farts in this relationship, but since she got pregnant she’s been trying to take first place.

Fianceé: “Oh, wow, I’m so sorry!”

Me: “It’s fine. You know how mine usually are.”

She quickly lifts her covers.

Fianceé: “Oh, wow. No, babe, this one is terrible!”

I get a whiff of hers, and yeah, it’s pretty bad. So I let one go myself, and like normal, it’s pretty bad.

Me: “Oh, no, I got one that’s worse.”

Fianceé: “No, I win. You know why? It’s two versus one.”

I love this woman.

Every so often, my husband decides to grow a beard. But, not having the genetics for thick and fast-growing facial hair, he usually shaves it off in frustration after a month or so.

One morning, after one of his longer-lasting attempts, my husband walks out of the bathroom clean-shaven. Our four-year-old daughter takes one look at him and stomps angrily out of the room. Confused, he and I both follow her and ask her what’s wrong. Arms crossed and visibly unhappy, she says:

Daughter: “I liked his beard! If he didn’t want it anymore, why couldn’t I have it?”

Before getting married, I met my husband’s parents a few times. They were friendly enough, but we ended up spending a lot more time with my family, and it was only later that I realized why.

One big red flag was the fact that, one week before our wedding, his parents called and left a voicemail to tell us that they were actually going to be going on a Mediterranean Cruise that week, that they’d miss us, and that they hoped we’d have fun. I was shocked, but my husband just shrugged and accepted it, and we ended up having a lovely ceremony and moved into our own little two-bedroom house.

Then, around three months after the wedding, there is a knock on our door, and when we answer it, we find his parents standing on our front porch with suitcases in hand, and with a moving truck parked in our driveway.

Husband: “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. What are you doing here?”

Mother-In-Law: “We’re moving in!”

I am standing right behind my husband, and I am stunned. I don’t deal well with conflict, and I start dreading what sort of fight we’ll have to have to tell them no when they’ve apparently already packed up to move in. My wonderful hubby, however, just smiles and speaks in a calm and cheerful voice.

Husband: “No, you’re not.”

Mother-In-Law: “Oh, but it will be so convenient. We can—”

My husband cuts her off by stepping forward and wrapping her in a hug. He then proceeds to hug his dad, before stepping back and putting a hand on both of their shoulders.

Husband: “Mom, Dad, I love you both, but you are not moving in with us. Especially not with zero notice. We’d love to have you over for a short visit, maybe next weekend, but you are not moving in with us.”

He then gives them both another hug before turning and walking back inside and then closing the door behind them, leaving them both standing out on the porch. He then crosses right to me, wraps me up in a hug, and buries his face in my hair.

Husband: *Muttering* “Now you see why I wasn’t too broken up about them not being at the wedding.”

They did end up leaving, and thankfully, they haven’t tried something like that again.

We have two older dogs. My boy has a bad leg and is a complete pushover. My girl is going blind and has a well-managed chronic pain condition and knows she’s queen bee. We have two dog beds in front of the TV. One is snuggly and the other is firm for when too many blankets would make it difficult for one of them to get up. 

This evening, I am watching TV and my boy is in the snuggly bed, having earlier pulled his favourite blanket from the firm one and into the snuggly one, and my girl is in the firm one. She decides she wants some comfort and climbs into the snuggly bed, lying on top of his bad leg. He gets up and glares at her. 

Then, he goes deliberately into the kitchen to my dad. Dad assumes he wants out and opens the back door. My girl can’t resist a chance to go outside and immediately gets up and trots outside. My boy turns round and gets back in the bed she just vacated. 

Who says dogs don’t have good reasoning skills?