(My boyfriend has left his computer unattended. I am about to post rude remarks on his social networking account, when I notice he has two music videos open. One is ‘Point Your Finger’, by popular Australian children’s band ‘The Wiggles’. The other has an obscenity laden band name and title, and a quick listen reveals it consists mainly of distorted samples and screaming. When he comes back in, he sees me listening to it with an expression of bewilderment on my face.)

Boyfriend: “I can explain!”

Me: “I’m not sure I want to know. But sure, go ahead…”

Boyfriend: “Well, you know how I like my art Dadaist, and true art is meant to be incomprehensible? It’s basically the musical equivalent of that; mocking various other electronic music styles, and being as strange and disturbing as possible!”

Me: “That’s… not really a great explanation. But I guess it makes sense for you. But why ‘The Wiggles’ as well?”

Boyfriend: “Have you looked at that? It’s the only music I’ve found that comes close to [other band] in complete insanity!”

Me: “You’re so cute when you’re not being annoying.”

Boyfriend: “You’re so annoying when you’re not being cute.”

(My girlfriend does about as much gaming as I do. We’re messing around on ‘Half-Life 2: Deathmatch’. We are running around and throwing things at each other with the Gravity Gun.)

Girlfriend: “Babe, have a seat!”

(She launches a chair at me, and it hits. I run over a broken-off door and get an idea.)

Me: “Hey, I a-door you!”

(I launch the door at her. We can’t keep playing from all the laughing.)

(My brother has a fear of being ill. This is unfortunate, because as part of treatment for a stomach condition, I have to take immunosuppressants. As a result, I get ill a lot. I currently have shingles, and my brother is griping to my mum about it.)

Brother: “If I get ill, I won’t be best pleased.”

Mum: “It’s not like your sister will give it to you on purpose.”

Brother: “Well, she can be spiteful at times…”

(We have recently moved into a new house across from a family with lots of kids. The neighbor comes over, and points to me playing in the yard.)

Neighbor: “Is that your oldest daughter?”

Mom: “Well, sort of; she’s the only one.”

Neighbor: “You have boys then?”

Mom: “Nope, just her.”

(The neighbor suddenly looks sad.)

Neighbor: “Oh, you just have the one?”

Mom: “Yeah, I did it right the first time.”

(The neighbor never mentioned my only-child status again.)