(I make my husband a banana bread, his favorite, on a Sunday so he’d have it for the whole week. Each day I would make him a piece for breakfast and send one to work in a piece of foil for his coworker that he carpools with. It is now Wednesday.)

Me: *cleaning out his lunch bag* “Why is the foil from [coworker’s] banana bread in here?”

Husband: “Um…”

Me: “You ate it?”

Husband: “…Yes.”

Me: “Have you eaten the other slice every day this week?”

Husband: “…Yes.”

Me: “That was for [coworker]!”

Husband: “But, I wanted it!”

Me: “You are such a toddler!”

Husband: “I am not a toddler! I just don’t like to share!”

(I am at a pub quiz, and my ex is there hitting on another woman on our trivia team – which I find laughable given how drunk he is. Since his place was on my way home, I offer him a ride home and end up punching him pretty hard in the face when he refuses to get out of my car and tries to kiss me. The next day, he starts texting me.)

Ex-boyfriend: “So…I guess I was kind of a butt last night.”

Me: “I would’ve said ‘douche canoe’, but okay.”

Ex-boyfriend: “Oh, come on! I’m a good person, and you broke up with me for no good reason!”

Me: “Oh, right. Because constantly insisting I have a weight problem when I’m skinnier than you are, and insisting you have a right to grope me because we’re dating aren’t good reasons.”

Ex-boyfriend: “You’re overreacting.”

Me: “No. No, I’m not. I’m refusing to date a douche canoe.”

Ex-boyfriend: “By the way, why does my face hurt?”

Me: “I hit you for trying to kiss me and not getting out of my car when I told you to.”

Ex-boyfriend: “Oh…so I really was being a douche canoe last night!”

(My mom has a saying as my sister and I are growing up: ‘If you get pregnant, don’t ask me to take care of your kid. You didn’t ask me if you could pull your pants down’.)

Mom: “I can’t believe how much I have to spend on bras for you and your sister.”

Me: “Don’t complain to me. I didn’t ask you to pull your pants down.”

Mom: *pause* “Smart-a**.”

(My cousin is due to have a baby girl in a few months. She has picked out a name that is very weird and one no one else has ever heard of. She’s over at my house where my sister and I are trying to talk her out of it.)

Me: “What’s wrong with Diana, or Rachel, or Elizabeth?”

Cousin: “Oh, they’re so overused! The name I picked will stand out so well!”

Sister: “Think about your daughter’s future, woman!”

(We don’t convince her by the time she leaves. As soon as she’s gone, my sister and I try to figure out what to do.)

Sister: “That kid’s going to get beaten up on the playground with a name like that! What do we do?”

Me: “Simple. We pick a cool nickname. We introduce her by that nickname to everyone we meet. We’ll use it so often that she’ll forget her real name!”

Sister: “Great. She’ll have a weird name, and an identity crisis.”

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(My oldest brother is what some would call ‘classically’ autistic, and goes through phases of saying or doing odd things. When we were children he took to saying ‘yessir’ instead of ‘yes’. For some reason this annoys me, and I attempt to correct him.)

Me: “Now, do you say yes or yessir?”

Brother: “Yessir.”

(This goes on for a couple of minutes. I give up.)

Me: “You’re just going to keep saying yessir your entire life aren’t you?”

Brother: *suddenly grinning* “YEAH!” *runs out of the room giggling*