When my youngest son was a senior in high school (just last year) he took a Zoology class, where they worked on a bug collection project. My husband was asking our youngest about said project after it had been turned in.

Husband: “When are you going to know what grade you got? Did you get all the categories you needed?”

Son: “I don’t know. [Teacher] has three or four Zoology classes, so she’ll be looking at bugs for a while.”

Me: “Well, she’ll be pretty bug-eyed, won’t she?”

CONTENT WARNING: Death

After a short hospital stay, my brother unexpectedly dies. Of course, we are devastated, but we know that we need to clear out his apartment of a few things right away. He owned several guns, and we think those should be secured before we move on to other things.

Some family members and I go through his two-bedroom apartment looking for as many of them as possible. He was a bit of a hoarder, and his extra bedroom is stuffed with things. We manage to find most of the guns right away, but I discover something unusual in the bedroom closet.

A pot-bellied stove.

I don’t have time to dwell on it, but it comes up later when my mom is asking about the apartment. She says the stove was actually something that my dad had purchased at an estate sale (he was notorious for buying random things) and my brother’s live-in girlfriend at the time saw it and wanted to turn it into a planter. That didn’t happen, and into the closet it went and probably hadn’t been thought about in years.

Cut to a few days later when we have the time to really clean everything out and I’ve emptied the closet except for the stove. It dawns on me to check if there’s anything inside. I reach in, feel a plastic bag, and pull it out.

And it’s full of marijuana.

I knew he smoked when he was younger, and he told me he hadn’t for a long time. Or maybe it was his girlfriend’s before they split up. Either way, it had been forgotten. But it did provide a humorous story to tell at his visitation.

Because what else would you expect to find in the belly of a pot-bellied stove but pot?

People sometimes ask where I get my sense of humour. The Christmas present I got from my parents about twenty or so years ago should give you an inkling.

It was about A4-sized (the size of standard printer paper) and very thin.

I opened up my present to find, sandwiched between two sheets of card, a couple of pencils tied together in a cross, with some string tied to the centre so it could be hung up. On the end of each pencil was more string, and attached to the ends of those were pictures of telephones that had been cut out of magazines and catalogues.

As I held it up and gave it a puzzled look, my Dad told me what it was.

Dad: “It’s a phone mobile.”

I burst out laughing.

Turns out this was a prelude to my main present, which was my very first mobile phone!

I work in a small engineering office as a design engineer. I’ve just returned to my desk with a mug of tea to be greeted by one of the machinists who has a copy of a drawing. He has been chatting with my two coworkers (also design engineers) who are the only others in the office.

Machinist: “I need you to check this drawing, Stephen. There is a difference between the computer drawing and the printed copy. The holes are one size, but the text says something different.”

I look at the drawing. It is one I recently up-issued, as I added some tapped holes. I also load up the electronic copy.

Me: “That’s odd. The bit I added looks fine on the printed drawing and the electronic version.”

Machinist: “It’s not that that’s wrong; it’s the holes marked ‘A’.”

I look at the drawing again. This is for a large plate with a LOT of different holes drilled into it. The holes have different letters marked against them, and a key by the side of the drawing gives a list of the hole sizes, labelled A to D.

Machinist: “If you check the drawing view, you can see it’s not the size that’s in the key.”

Me: “So I see. I don’t know when that mistake happened, as I only added the tapped holes. I didn’t touch the A holes. NO, WAIT, I DIDN’T MEAN—”

But it’s too late. The machinist and my coworkers burst out laughing. Mind you, so do I.

Whilst the laughter settles down, I quickly check previous versions.

Me: “The mistake is on all of them. It’s only a clearance hole for access, so I’m not bothered about what size it is. Could you please check your machining program? Let me know what size it is and I’ll change the drawing accordingly.”

Machinist: “Sure, I’ll check your A-holes for you.”

As he leaves, I pick up my mug so I can finally get caffeinated.

Me: “It’s a shame [Technical Manager] isn’t here, as he loves a good innuendo.”

Coworker #1: “Maybe you should give him a ring?”

Once I’d finally stopped shaking with laughter, my mug had a lot less tea!

My ex is a bit of a leech, and since he can’t drive, he often asks for my help driving him places. On the evening in question, his mother has been staying over with me to help with my daughter. She gets along far better with me than she does with him, and she’s sick of his crap. We are going to shop at a different store than he is, so we drop him off.

As we are leaving the store, my phone starts ringing off the hook with my impatient ex on the other end. (I call my former mother-in-law “Momma” as she has become my surrogate mom since my real mom died.)

Momma: “Looks like we have to go catch [Ex].”

Me: “Can I throw him back?”

Momma: “You already did.”

Me: “That’s true… Wait, no.”

I gesture to the daughter I share with my ex.

Me: “He’s on the hook for the next ten years.”

Momma: “Unfortunately.”