(I write romance novels, and I’m stuck on a particular bit of banter. My husband walks past my office while I’m staring off into space.)

Me: “Hey, what do people turn the lights down for, other than romantic stuff? I need something funny for the banter in this scene, and I’m drawing a blank.”

Husband: “Transporting nitroglycerin?”

(Exhibit A for the case of “why my husband and I will probably never co-write a book.”)

(My husband is doing our shared flat’s laundry when he finds a pair of black tights.)

Husband: “Honey, are these yours or your sister’s?”

Me: “They don’t look familiar. Sis, are they yours?”

Sister: “Nope. [Female Roommate], are these yours?”

Sister’s Roommate: “No, definitely not mine.”

Me:“If they don’t belong to any of us girls, how did they get in there?”

(Then my brother, who was in dance school, walked past and grabbed them out of my hands without saying a word.)

Me: *answering a call from an unfamiliar number* “Hello?”

Caller: *adolescent male voice* “…I’m gonna cut off your balls and shove them down your throat.” *click*

Me: “Hmm. Okay.” *calls the police, provides the number, fills out a report*

(Several days go by:)

Friend: “I heard that you called the police on my little brother?”

Me: “Oh! Is THAT who that was? Are you aware of what he said?”

Friend: “He admitted it wasn’t good, but he didn’t say what. You scared the living crap out of him; he thought he was going to jail.”

Me: “Good.”

(We’re actually German, but for a time my father had a job with a company located in Saudi Arabia, so that is where we lived at the time this occurred.)

I was about 7 or 8 years old, and went to a German international school, located within the same walled off compound my family and I lived in. There were a lot of other Germans and Europeans living there too, along with a bunch of other kids, who attended the same school. I would pretty much play with whoever I met at the playground, and there was this girl I befriended, who I soon found out went to the same school and lived just a few houses down from me.

Eventually, we became regular playmates and her mom and my mom started meeting up over coffee, shopping trips…etc. My mother started to get a little concerned, because of behavior both my new (friend) and her mother were exhibiting.

After a while, (friend’s) mother convinced herself she was my mother’s best friend, and my mother was therefore not allowed to be friends with any of the other women, who lived in the compound (several of whom my mother happened to be very good friends with), and would actually instigate arguments with my mother, if she saw her so much as talk to another woman.

I didn’t know about any of this, of course, that is until (friend) behaved in ways that surprised even myself as a child.

She would explore each room and part of our house, even after I told her what rooms she shouldn’t go into, and what things to leave alone. Once, we were playing in my room, and I went out to get something to drink, when I got back, I found she’d disappeared, cue me checking each room to find she’d gone into my parents’ bedroom and ransacked my mother’s make-up kit! I was horrified that she had been playing with my mother’s things (which I at that age looked upon as practically sacred), and had to physically drag her out of there, and tried helping her wash off the eyeliner she’d scrawled all over her eyelids. We weren’t successful, and my mom was angry about the mess and that (friend) never asked permission for anything and would do as she pleased in someone else’s home.

But things didn’t get really bad until the Barbie-incident. I’d played at her house one afternoon and some time after going home, we get a phone call, and it was (friend’s) mother yelling at my mother saying that I had stolen (friend’s) Barbie doll. My mother didn’t even pause, and defended me immediately saying that I would never steal, and that I had plenty of toys and several Barbie dolls to want to take one belonging to another child.

This didn’t satisfy her though, and both of them came over to our house to “inspect” my dolls, lined up neatly on a shelf in my room. “Friend” actually reached out to grab one of them, but I caught her wrist with my hand and told her firmly that, no, that doll is mine, not yours. Thankfully, she didn’t argue the point, and they left, but her mother seemed unconvinced.

A few days later, we get another phone call, and it turns out, they found the doll under her bed, and “friend” had accused me of stealing it because she didn’t want to admit she’d “lost” it. We stopped playing together after that, but it wasn’t the end.

We had many more encounters, and her lying got much worse as the years wore on. She would accuse me of calling her all kinds of swear words (which I at the time had never heard of, and I actually had to ask my mom what they meant, which in turn horrified her, and left her demanding to know where I’d heard them) to make me look like a “bad” person in front of random people living in the compound. She started making up stories at school as well, but by then, she had a reputation and no one bothered believing a word she said.

The ultimate act that ended up alienating her from everyone else was when during the age of Pokemon on the gameboy and gameboy color, the silver and gold versions had just been released. One of my brother’s classmates had a birthday coming up, and my brother decided to split the costs with another friend of his to buy her the gold version.

(Ex-friend), who was also at the party, saw it, and as her birthday was coming up right after, convinced herself that my brother would get her the same thing. She kept dropping obvious hints, but considering the history and no-longer-existing friendship between us, our family had no intention of doing that. Especially since the “presents” she gave were old VHS tapes of random shows and movies her parents recorded off of the TV.

My mom bought a nice blouse to give as a present instead, and she didn’t even bother saying “Thank you.” when she received it. No one got her the Pokemon game.

A week later, I was hanging out in my brother’s classroom during recess, (it was a small school and were just one year apart and friends with people from other classes) when the girl he had given the Pokemon game to, panics, because the game is missing, and they start searching the entire classroom.

Having experienced a case of theft in my own class once, I ask if they’d checked the drawers yet (we had drawers instead of lockers). They hadn’t, and when they did, found the game in the drawer of my brother’s friend, who helped buy it in the first place, already had his own copy, and was therefore highly unlikely to be the thief. Without anyone saying anything, we all turn to look at “ex-friend”, who doesn’t say a word.

She later confessed to the girl in private, that yes, she had taken the game, and begged her not to tell anyone. But the girl was so angry, she pretty much told everyone in the entire school, and the teachers had a meeting with “ex-friend” regarding her behavior.

She was mostly by herself from then on, no friends at all.

But, as angry as the things she said and did made me, I also felt extremely sorry for her, as I found out her mother was actually her father’s second wife (much younger than him), and that he hadn’t wanted anymore children. So, he basically ignored her, and most of their contact/communication consisted of him yelling at her.

And her parents were thought of as crazy, as they would go out of their way to pick fights with children, who they felt wronged their daughter. I.e. I was walking home from school with another friend once, and (ex-friend’s) mother walked up to us to call my friend “a stupid cow”, because (ex-friend) decided to hate my friend and make up stories about her to her parents, and (ex-friend’s) father actually ran up to us on the playground and screamed at my friend until she cried and he left. So, given her home-life, I can’t say her behavior was excusable, but it made things a little more understandable in hindsight.

Her family moved away to Spain in the early 2000’s and I have no idea what’s become of her since, but I do sincerely hope she got some help along the way and was able to make a change for the better.

(In the town where I lived, a bank changed its phone number, and the new number happened to be very similar to mine. This sparked all kinds of problems. I kept coming home from work to messages – many of which contained very sensitive information such as bank account numbers, cards details and pin numbers. I deleted them immediately and contacted the bank to tell them. The bank manager apologised and said he would send out a letter to all their customers telling them to be extra careful when dialling but also to remind them not to leave sensitive information on any messages. Despite the manager’s best efforts, I keep getting calls and coming home to messages. I couldn’t change my number because the phone company would’ve charged me for it. I figure that the customers would eventually get the message. Besides, most of the callers are polite, if a little embarrassed when I tell them they have to wrong number. However, one morning I get roused at 8am by a phone call. I am still half asleep when I answer.)

Me: “Uh … hello …?”

Woman: “That’s a terrible way to answer a call. So rude.”

Me: “Who is this?”

Woman: “My name is Mrs [Name]. I need to make an appointment to discuss my savings account with you-”

Me: “Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve got the wrong number. This isn’t [bank].”

Woman: “How DARE you interrupt me! Are you new?”

Me: “I don’t work at [bank]. You have the wrong number.”

Woman: “Look just make me the appointment this is very important.”

Me: “You have called a private residence. This is not [bank]. You need to hang up and try again.”

Woman: “You insolent little b****! I demand your name!”

Me: “I’m not giving you my name. You’ve got the wrong number!

Woman: “You’re just saying that to cover your a**. Typical young person – you’re all lazy and rude. Get me your manager now!”

Me: “This. Isn’t. [Bank]. You have called a private residence. The new number for the bank is one digit different to mine. You have the wrong number. I cannot get the manager because I am not in the bank – I am in my house. You are not speaking to a [bank] employee.”

Woman: “That’s it! I’m going to make a complaint and get you fired! You are a rude and insolent little b****.”

Me: “Good luck with that. I don’t even work for [bank]. Like I keep telling you, you have the wrong number.”

Woman: “How dare you! That’s it; I’m coming down to the bank. I know the branch manager personally. I hope you enjoy the unemployment line.”

Me: “I hope you enjoy trying to fire somebody who doesn’t even work for the bank.”

*I hang up*