(I am pregnant with our second child. My husband is wonderful, waiting on me hand and foot while taking care of our daughter. He takes all of my abuse when I am nauseous and cranky. I am still at work because of computer problems, and he instant messages me.)

Husband: “I love you.”

Me: “I hate you because I feel nauseous, and because you are a computer person. I hate computer people right now. Everything is so slow and stupid.”

Husband: “Okay. I will be the surrogate. Let your hatred of computer guys flow through you. Embrace the true power of the dork side!”

(My husband passed away in September, and it’s because of moments like this that I miss him.)

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(My grandmother visits right after I turn 18.)

Grandma: “I want to tell you something.”

Me: “Okay.”

Grandma: “It’s very important.”

(She takes both of my hands in hers, and looks grave.)

Me: “Okay…”

Grandma: “If you… if you fool around, you be sure—be sure!—to use a condominium! Promise me!”

(She grips my hands tightly. I try desperately not to crack a smile.)

Me: “I will, Grandma! I promise!”

(I’m having a conversation with my mum about a woman I work with. This woman is really pretty and good natured, but not very intelligent.)

Me: “She’s nice enough, but it’s a real pain having to till train her every five minutes. I’m convinced the manager only employed her because she has blonde hair and nice legs!”

Mum: “That’s ridiculous! Are you saying your manager only employed her because she’s pretty?”

Me: “Yeah, he does this a lot!”

Mum: “Well that can’t be right. He employed you, didn’t he!?”

(My mom is cooking dinner. I’ve wandered into the kitchen to see if she needs help. She is currently cutting vegetables.)

Me: “Need some help?”

Mom: “Um… yeah.”

(She gestures in the general direction of the fridge.)

Mom: “Get me the… the um… get me the…”

(She goes silent and continues cutting vegetables.)

Me: “The what?”

(She continues without looking up or stopping.)

Mom: “The… the… um the… thing…”

Me: “The what?”

Mom: “The… umm… the soup.”

(I know for a fact that there is no soup in the fridge. I check anyway.)

Me: “The soup?”

Mom: “Yeah… chicken soup… no… the chicken stock.”

Me: “Chicken stock?”

Mom: Yes… wait, no… beef stock… broth.”

Me: “Beef broth.”

Mom: “Yes, beef broth! What’s taking so long?”

Me: “I hate all these new boy bands. Even their names are cheesy. One Direction; what type of name is that?”

Fiancé: “One Direction… that reminds me of New Directions.”

Me: “Seriously? A Glee Reference? You’ve been making a few too many of those lately. You’re starting to have me worried. Do you have something you need to tell me?”

Fiancé: “What? It’s an awesome show.”

Me: “Okay, but it’s becoming your thing. I think you might be gay, love. It’s okay; you can tell me.”

Fiancé: “I love you!”

(A few days later, we are listening to a bunch of random music…)

Fiancé: “Is it sad that most of these songs are reminding me of Glee?”

Me: “No. It just means you’re gay.”

Fiancé: “I can just picture Shuester singing ‘Bust a Move’ right now.”

Me: “I wish I had never introduced you to that show. At least I know that I’m marrying a gay man.”

Fiancé: “Vanilla Ice, Ice, Baby!”

(A few days later, and we’re messaging online…)

Me: “I love you.”

Fiancé: “I lgbt you, too.”

Me: “You’re gay?! I knew it!”

Fiancé: “Autocorrect! I already have a hard enough time proving I’m straight to my future wife.”

Me: “It’s okay. You don’t have to go back into the closet. I still love you.”