Boyfriend: “One time, I got wicked drunk. I got into a fight with this jar head.”

Me: “I really don’t think you’re going to achieve anything telling me this story.”

Boyfriend: “But you don’t even know how it ends!”

Me: “It started with you being drunk and in a fight; there aren’t many places it could go.”

Boyfriend: “It wasn’t a physical fight! I told him there were on average, 800 kernels on an ear of corn. He didn’t believe me.”

Me: “How did this fight end?”

Boyfriend: “He had his buddy buy an ear of corn and counted them all. He was rather dumb about it. I mean, he could have just googled it.”

Me: “Pants. Off. Now.”

(My fiancé is a tax accountant. As it’s currently tax season, he’s been working crazy hours. We are in bed. He is sleeping, but I cannot. If he holds me, I go right to sleep.)

Me: “Honey, please hold me.”

(He grumbles unintelligibly.)

Me: “What?”

(He rolls over, and speaks quite loudly and clearly.)

Fiancé: “Honey, I do not want to figure out whether this is deductible or non-deductible right now.”

(He rolls back over, still asleep. I crack up laughing. I never did get him to hold me.)

(I am planning to get a small holding to start a mobile farm. My sister and I live together.)

Me: “So, what animals would you want on the farm?”

Sister: “Meerkats, a turkey, a runner duck, and lots of dogs. Oh, and a pig. I’m going to call the pig ‘Duck’.”

Me: “Umm, why?”

Sister: “So when I have kids and they get asked at school what noise does a duck make, they’ll answer, ‘Oink’!”

(I’m a 13-year-old female.)

Me: “Mom, I want my hair like this.”

(I show her a picture. It has a guy with short spiky hair, and a girl with long hair and blue streaks.)

Mom: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes!”

Mom: “Well, I’ll have to ask your dad first. That’s a pretty drastic change.”

(Later on…)

Dad: “So, mom showed me the picture. You want short spiky hair? Are you sure it’s not too short? You’ll have to wait for your hair to grow back.”

Me: “Did you not see the girl in the picture?”

Dad: “What! You want crazy hair? No way are you walking around like that. If you really want a guy’s short cut, that’s fine, but no crazy hair!”

(It’s March, on the Friday before daylight saving.)

Dad: “I hate that we lose an hour this weekend!”

Me: “Oh! It’s daylight saving already? Don’t you mean we gain an hour? You should be happy!”

Dad: “No, we lose an hour.”

Me: “No, we gain an hour! Remember, we lost an hour last time.”

Dad: “We gained an hour last time.”

Me: “No. Remember? Everyone was moaning about it. It’s spring forward, fall back.”

Dad: “Right! Spring forward, fall back. We lose an hour. It’s so exhausting! It messes up our sleep, and the cats don’t know when they should be fed.”

Me: “No, I’m positive we gain an hour. People do their moaning in the spring! You shouldn’t be annoyed. I’m happy now; our sleep will be better! Spring forward, fall back.”

(My dad is looking at me very strangely.)

Dad: “Let’s just wait for the weekend. Then we’ll see.”

(I go back to reading my book. After about 20 minutes, I check my phone to see what time it is. I see the date.)

Me: “Oh, my God! It’s March!”

Dad: “…yes?”

Me: “You were right! We do lose an hour! That sucks!”

Dad: “I told you.”

(There is a long pause.)

Me: “Although, if you consider that I was arguing from the point of view that it was apparently fall, we were both right!”

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