(My two-year-old’s hair has gotten a bit long, so I decide to trim it. I have him sitting on my lap, and just as I start to trim his hair, my phone goes off. It’s a Skype call, and he knows that my phone only makes that particular sound when his dad is calling, so he excitedly bounces right as I close the scissors. I sigh as I answer the video call and give my son the phone.)

Son: “Dada! Hi!”

Husband: “Hey there, son!”

(My son starts jabbering away at my husband, then suddenly he reaches up and grabs the back of his head and his eyes go wide.)

Son: *patting the back of his head* “Oh, gosh! Oh, gosh!”

Husband: *to me* “What’s wrong? Why’s he grabbing his head like that?”

Me: “Well, he moved right as I went to trim his hair, and I wound up cutting it way shorter than I meant to. He just realized how much hair I chopped off back there.”

Husband: *laughs* “Did she gap your hair, buddy?”

Son: *nods* “Yeah!” *pats back of his head again then looks at me* “Gosh!”

Me: *rolls eyes* “Well, sir, when you finish your conversation with Dada, I will get the clippers out and cut your hair so that it’s all short.”

(My son sits quietly a moment as if he’s contemplating what I’ve said, then nods.)

Son: “You do it.”

Husband: *laughs* “I wonder how well that’s going to go over?”

(For the rest of the twenty minute call, he occasionally reached up to touch the back of his head and say, “Oh, gosh!” When we had finished the call, my son sat completely still for most of his hair cut. The only time he moved was to occasionally wipe the hair off his face and the back of his neck before I could do it. I am so glad he didn’t cry or throw a fit like some children his age do.)

(A man comes into our store trying to sell insurance. We are in Louisiana.)

Man: “Where is your corporate office?”

Me: “Arizona.”

Man: “That’s one state up, right?”

Me: “Arizona borders California.”

Man: “Oh, I’m thinking of Alabama!”

Me: “…”

(I’m guessing he probably doesn’t know where California is, either.)

Related:
In A State Of Confusion, Part 6
In A State Of Confusion, Part 5
In A State Of Confusion, Part 4

(My college roommate and I are randomly assigned, so we don’t know each other at all. One week into the semester, some of her friends stop by to pick her up for a party.)

Roommate: “I’ve got the brownies ready. Did you get the booze?”

Friend: “No, and our IDs got confiscated, so we can’t get any more.”

(Suddenly, all of them turn to look at me with a glint in their eyes.)

Me: “I’m going to stop you right there. One, I’m 20. Two, buying for a minor is illegal and punishable by a fine of ten grand and up to five years in prison, and I don’t like you that much.”

Roommate: “Fair enough.”

(I’ve recently hurt my knee and am wearing a brace that allows me to walk, but walking or standing for too long is painful, so I park as close to the grocery store as I can. As I’m getting out of my car, I notice a woman parked a few spaces down and across the aisle is glaring at me as she helps an elderly woman out of her vehicle. I force a smile to be polite, close my door, and lock my car up, then take off toward the store.)

Woman: *loudly* “Mom, look at that one! Bet she’s not even hurt. Stupid, lazy teenager. And look at her brand new car! I bet she’s never paid a dime on it! Entitled teenage brat.”

(I would usually ignore an idiot like her, but I’m in a bad mood and my knee is throbbing, so I whirl around as best I can and flip her off.)

Me: *shouting back* “Actually, I’m a spoiled 30-year-old housewife, with a three-year-old used car, not a spoiled teenager! Thanks for playing, b****, but you don’t win the golden Kewpie doll!”

(I turn and start for the store again as the elderly woman starts cackling gleefully.)

Elderly Woman: *loud enough for me to hear* “Serves you right for being a judgmental c***!”

(I was born and raised in the midwest, but moved south for college, and adapted to the local quirks quickly, including door-holding. If there is someone within fifteen seconds of the door, you will hold it for them and you will hold the door until no one is within that distance, regardless of holder/holdee gender combination. However, some guys will not walk through doors held by women, instead insisting on taking the door in an awkward handoff, even if there are fifteen people behind them.)

Me: *grabs door and holds it open after class gets out*

Classmate: *who is a foot taller and a good 150 pounds heavier than me* “Oh, miss, let me get the door for you.”

Me: “OH, MY GOD, JUST GO THROUGH THE F****** DOOR!”

Classmate: *looking at me with equal parts terror and respect* “Yes, ma’am.”

Professor: “That was a bit harsh.”

Me: “I’d feel bad, but that was the third time some southern gentleman tried to do the awkward door shuffle with me.”

Professor: “Third time this week?”

Me: “Third time today.”