Girlfriend: “Why do you always have to win every single argument?”
Me: “I really don’t. I only win the ones where I’m right.”
Girlfriend: “That’s the other thing. Why do you always have to be right?”
Me: “I’m not! I’m—wait, I’m just proving your point now, aren’t I?”
(My husband has the maturity of a 12-year-old boy when it comes to bodily functions. One day, I use this to my advantage while he’s napping.)
Me: “Babe, I have a very serious marriage question to ask you.”
Husband: “What?”
Me: “If I unknowingly clogged a toilet, would you unclog it—”
Husband: “H*** NO!”
Me: “I thought so. Go unclog the deuce you left in the toilet so I can go pee.”
Husband: *getting out of bed* “You tricked me!”
(My boyfriend is telling me about his day at work. Before we started dating, I once fell off a loft bed and onto his head.)
Boyfriend: “I told my coworkers I had a girlfriend.”
Me: “Oh? How did that come up?”
Boyfriend: “I told them you fell on my head.”
Me: “What context?”
Boyfriend: “Weird ways people have hit on you.”
Me: “It was an accident!”
Boyfriend: “Who cares? It won that discussion!”
Me: “What was it up against?”
Boyfriend: “Changing oil in one guy’s truck, and another guy’s bank manager balancing his checkbook for him.”
Me: “At least those are legitimate hit ons.”
Boyfriend: “Yours was a literal hit on!”
(I am babysitting my four-year-old niece. I am in the kitchen, fixing lunch, and she is in the living room looking through a coloring book. The neighbor boy, Michael, had come over to play earlier that morning. I hear my niece talking to herself.)
Niece: “That Michael, doesn’t he know the Bible says thou shalt color in thine own stuff! I’m going to whop him!”
(After a pause, she continues.)
Niece: “No, no, I can’t do that. The Bible says thou shalt not whop.”
(My dad and I are watching ‘Les Misérables’. I warn him before we start, that everyone dies, and that it’s a very miserable movie. The first character to die is on her deathbed, and my dad is only starting to realize how sad the film is going to be.)
Dad: “Oh dear. This really is a big pity party, isn’t it? How much longer is there to go?”
Me: “Two hours. Good luck.”
(Later, the main character is taking care of an orphaned girl, and singing a song about how he’s finally learning to love.)
Dad: “Well, they’ve cheered up a bit. Still rather anguished, though.”
Me: “Sorry, but this is pretty much the happiest it ever gets.”
Dad: “Oh God. Why did I agree to watch this?”
(When the movie ends, my dad sits still during the credits and covers his face with his hands. I’m pretty sure he’s crying. After a while he looks at me.)
Dad: “Next time, we’re watching Ice Age.”
