I’m pacing the self-checkout area when a couple approaches from one of the nearest aisles, ribbing each other. The man ups his speed to get to me before the woman does. 

Man: *Clearly joking* “Watch out! She’s stealing!”

He then continues toward the doors as the woman catches up with me.

Woman: “What did he say?”

Me: *Smiling brightly* “He said that you’re beautiful, and every minute with you is a joy!”

Woman: “He did not!” *Turning to yell at the man* “You’d better like her; she’s lying for you!”

He just laughed as he waited for her at the door, and they walked out, still “arguing”.

My dad passed about ten years ago, and my mom just passed this year. When I was collecting my inheritance from my mom’s passing, I wanted to transfer her accounts from her advisor in her home state of New Mexico to my advisor closer to home.

As I went through the process of transferring the accounts, I got a call from the advisor. He begged me to leave the account in his hands because after my dad passed, he had a whirlwind romance with my mom and wanted to keep managing that account to remember her.

I admit, my response wasn’t very professional. I said, “Ew,” hung up, and finalized the transaction.

It was a sold-out weekend at our hotel because of a major corporate convention. Guests were coming in from all over the country. The rooms were assigned by the housing bureau and paid for by their employer. It had been a crazy night with people finding out they had roommates, a non-smoker being assigned a smoking room, and two hated competitors being assigned to the same room (intentionally done by their boss, with notes not to move them).

One of our last arrivals for this group was a man named Robin. Immediately after Robin checked in, he returned to the desk with a young lady in tow.

Robin: “There must be a mistake; I’m in a room with a woman I don’t know.”

Lady: “I’m sure he is a nice guy, but staying in a room with a strange man…”

Me: “I apologize, but we didn’t assign the rooms; they were assigned by the housing bureau.”

Robin: “Could I pay for my own room?”

Me: “Unfortunately, we’re sold out.”

There was a hotel on the other side of downtown that had rooms — but of course, all the convention meetings were at our hotel. I did point out that if they could find someone in a single room to switch with, I would be more than happy to reassign the rooms. They retired to the bar to figure things out.

I later saw them together at the convention’s social hour. They approached me and said they would make it work, and they asked if I could send up a pair of robes.

A year later, I’d forgotten all about Robin and his roommate when I received a call to come to the desk. There at the desk were Robin and his roommate, both with wide smiles on their faces. She was holding her hand up in that way all new brides do to show off their rings.

That weekend a year before was the start of their whirlwind relationship. They had just gotten married and decided to spend their honeymoon in the city where they’d met. I helped them plan their sightseeing activities and made restaurant suggestions.

They returned for the next two years that I was at that property. The last I heard, they had a child on the way and had relocated to our area.

It’s my first day as a freshman at a college a few hours away from my family, and it also happens to be my nineteenth birthday! A friend of mine has just given me a large cookie cake with “Happy Birthday” written on it in large letters and is introducing me to some fellow freshmen she met during orientation.

One of the guys comes over to me and sees my cookie cake.

Guy: “Oh, nice cake! Is it your birthday today?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m nineteen today!”

Guy: “Cool. Mine is tomorrow, actually.” *Jokingly* “Do you think I could get a piece of that cake?”

Me: *Laughs out loud* “Sure!” 

And that’s the story I tell my children of how I met their father — and lured him in with a giant cookie!

My husband has just gotten home from picking up our seven-month-old daughter from daycare. Once I finish my work for the evening, I check on them.

Me: “How are we doing in here? According to the daycare app, it looks like she hasn’t had a diaper change in a bit?”

Husband: “Looks like it. Mind taking care of that? I’ve gotta start dinner prep.”

Me: “Sure. All right, kiddo, let’s go check the damage.”

She and I have gotten maybe ten steps when she projectile-vomits over herself, me, and the floor. I yell for [Husband]’s help, and over the next thirty minutes, we get her changed and bathed, I get a shower, and [Husband] cleans off the floor.

After we’re all settled, [Husband] and I both agree that neither of us feels like cooking now, and we order dinner from a local place that does Nashville Hot Chicken sandwiches.

When [Husband] comes back from picking up the order, he pulls out a cake slice from the bag.

Husband: “It’s for you. Consider it an ‘I’m sorry you got puked on’ present.”

I know this man loves me, but extra gestures like this make it even more obvious.