On the New Year, we were having a family dinner party at my granduncle’s place, as usual. After some drinking, Dad got suckered by his cousins into promising to show up at the next family event while crossdressing. And unfortunately, there was video evidence, so he couldn’t get out of it.

Now, Dad’s essentially the stereotypical East Asian pretty boy. You know the K-pop boy bands? Dad’s as pretty as those guys, so there was quite a bit of enthusiasm over how Dad would look in a dress.

A few weeks later, during Chinese New Year, my granduncle throws another family party.

I’m waiting downstairs with Mom while Grandma helps Dad get ready. And finally, Dad comes down the stairs wearing a wig, makeup, and a really nice dress.

I am a tiny six-year-old girl at the time, so I essentially have no filter. My reaction to seeing Dad?

Me: *Starry-eyed awe* “Daddy! You’re prettier than Mommy!”

Mom never forgave me for that. It was true, of course, but that was still the last day I was my mother’s favourite child.

I had a work friend who I knew did a lot of volunteering with kids. When I finally invited him to come to my house for dinner one evening, I wasn’t surprised that he hit it off with my kids, to the point that they were begging me to invite him back. He even babysat for me a few times.

I’m glad I invited him over when I did because, after a few visits, he caught me alone to politely tell me that my son likely had ADHD, something he said he knew about both because of volunteering with neurodiverse kids and because he had ADHD himself.

Not long after my son was officially diagnosed with ADHD, my friend and I were attending a fourth of July event. I joked that they had given my son too much sugar since he was more hyper than his usual. At this, my friend got an almost manic grin.

Friend: “Oh, I can fix that. Want me to calm him down some?”

Me: “I’d love to see you try.”

[Friend] stood up and called to my son into the yard.

Friend: “Hey, [Son], I was about to go get myself some liquid medicine. Want me to pour you some?

Son: “Yes!”

Me: “Wait, what are you—”

Friend: “Be right back with our medicine!”

My friend disappeared into the house then, clearly intentionally not explaining himself. After some joking with the folks I was visiting about not being sure how worried I should be right now, I finally tried asking my son.

Me: “What is [Friend] getting you?”

Son: “It’s okay, Mom. [Friend] says it’s good because it helps when I have too much energy.”

That’s when my friend came out carrying a can of soda and poured some into my son’s cup. That’s how I learned that, apparently, caffeine can slightly calm someone with ADHD down, and that, apparently, my friend had already told my son this when babysitting.

That’s also how I learned that my friend was not afraid to go out of his way to set me up to be trolled during a holiday.

Years later, my son still tries to claim he needs a soda to focus sometimes if I won’t let him have one. My friend is unapologetic about this fact.

I sell my flat to a first-generation immigrant. After the sale, the buyer contacts me a few times to ask for help in dealing with the legal duties, as he’s always been a tenant. I’m glad to oblige, but everything has a limit. One evening, when I’ve just come home from work, the phone rings.

Me: “Hello?”

Tenant: “[My Name]! The windows! They is broken!”

There is a pause in which I wait for more information, and he waits for some input. I realize I need to say something to break the stalemate.

Me: “And why are you calling me about it?”

Tenant: “Because the landlord, he must fix the windows.”

Me: “Buddy, you’re not paying rent; you’re paying a mortgage. You are your own d*** landlord now.”

There were no more calls from him.

One night, not long after getting a new puppy, my gran was visited by her daughter (my aunt) and they were having a chat in my gran’s bedroom whilst the pup played on the floor next to the bed.

At the time, my gran was trying to train the pup that he could only climb on the furniture if he was invited using the command, “Up,” and as my aunt had just sat down on the bed she thought she’d let her invite the pup up for a cuddle. My gran also had a habit of spelling out words to disguise them from the dog. B-A-T-H, V-E-T, P-A-R-K — that kind of thing.

Gran: “[Aunt], why don’t you tell the dog to come U-P?”

Aunt: *Looking puzzled* “Why don’t I tell him to what?”

Gran: “You know, tell him ‘U-P’!”

Aunt: “Okay… [Dog], you pee!”

Fortunately, the dog actually didn’t pee on the bedroom floor, although when she stopped laughing, my gran asked my aunt why she thought that’s what my Gran wanted him to do!

We sometimes rent out our upstairs (which has a kitchenette) on Airbnb. We’ve had perfect reviews so far — people have complimented us on how great the place is, how clean it is, and how much they like it. One guest even compared it to a five-star hotel in their review!

On Friday evening, we get in a guest. They check in late at 11:00 pm and compliment us on the place. However, we hear the guest leave and it doesn’t appear they come back for the night for some reason. At 6:00 am on Saturday, we hear pounding on the door upstairs so loudly that the entire house is shaking. My husband peeks out the window close to the stairs leading up to the door and asks the intruder to leave, who identifies himself as a friend of our guest. He goes back and forth many times with the guy, refusing to let him in, and the guy keeps repeating, “Well, what am I going to do?”

Not our problem, buddy. He leaves and I go back to sleep, while my husband cannot sleep.

Later on that day, the guest returns and invites the friend (who was banging on the door) in. They spend the evening being kind of loud and obnoxious, and we text the guest, asking that the friend leave for the night (since the suite was booked by only the guest) and reminding them that they need to be quiet at 11:00 pm. We don’t think the friend ever leaves, and the same noisy routine repeats the following evening.

The morning the guest and friend leave, I go upstairs to see the condition of the suite. To my horror, it reeks of cigarette smoke. Upset, I simply message the guest to inform them of this. The guest then calls a while later, insisting that there’s no way it smells like smoke, that they only smoked outside, and denying over and over that the place could actually smell like smoke.

Thankfully, after airing the suite out (including during a snowstorm, so we have to get the snow out of the suite), the smell disappears completely. I message the guest to update them and thank them for clarifying that they, in fact, did not smoke inside.

Sadly, the guest leaves us a negative review, saying that they wouldn’t recommend staying there and that I wasn’t “nice.” They then give us one-star reviews each for cleanliness and for accuracy. For some reason, even though they initially told us the suite was great, they are so upset about the conversation about the smell that they’ve decided to ding us for things that were actually not an issue.

Oh, and our house rules stated that no smoking was allowed on the premises, but the guest was smoking on the balcony and left ashes everywhere. I also find remnants of a joint they were rolling up in the crevices of the coffee table.

I have no patience left for people who refuse to take accountability for their actions, and the app wouldn’t do anything for us, saying that the ratings and review would stay.

I don’t think we will be hosting anyone else anytime soon.