I am working on paperwork when a little old lady approaches the service desk. She is rubbing her pants in the crotch area.

Customer: “Do you have that thing that makes it wet?”

I look up and notice what she’s doing with her hand.

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “That thing that makes it wet?” 

I call over another coworker to take over so I can duck behind the desk and start laughing. 

Coworker: “What did you need help finding?”

Customer: “It drips.”

Coworker: “I’m sorry?” 

I walked away. I found out later that the woman had needed feminine pads. It took my coworker three more times to figure out what she wanted, given her very vague descriptions.

I recently, awkwardly, had to teach my mother, in her mid-sixties, what the phrase “that’s what she said” was all about. She thought it was hilarious, and at the first chance she had, she tried out her newfound knowledge.

We were at a family BBQ and one of my uncles unknowingly threw her the perfect opening, something about a sausage being a long one. She turned to me and winked, and then blurted out, “Said the girl!”

She was so proud of herself. Close, but not quite, Mum!

My husband is from England and I live in the USA, so after we get married, we begin the green card process. After about six months, we receive our interview invitation. When the day comes, we are seated with a stern-looking, middle-aged immigration agent who conducts our interview. We’re feeling a bit stiff and tense when he gets to the list of obligatory criminal background questions he has to ask my husband.

Agent: “Have you ever engaged in prostitution?”

Husband: “No.”

He then gets a look on his face that I know very well; he’s struggling not to make a joke. I try to signal, “DON’T YOU DARE!” with my eyes, but…

Husband: “I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

There is a moment of silence. Then, the agent starts laughing.

Agent: “Fair enough! Let’s move on!”

The tension lifted, the agent finished the interview and told us to “have lots of babies,” and my husband is now on his way to becoming a permanent resident and then a US citizen!

My mother is a retired midwife. I was raised with a clear understanding of motherhood and everything it entails. As a ten-year-old boy, I would read her professional magazines. I could have an intelligent conversation about menopause or explain an epidural. Then, in my early teens, this happens.

Mum: “Hey, [My Name]. How are you? You won’t believe what happened last night. We had a model breast.”

Me: “A model— Wait, what?”

Mum: “We had some professional development training to do in breastfeeding, and they had a model breast for it.”

Me: “Er, model breast?”

Mum: “A model of a boob; it’s supposed to imitate a functioning boob. It came complete with a nipple that dispenses a liquid.”

Me: “Right… but almost all midwives are women. Aren’t there enough boobs in a maternity hospital for this to be obvious?”

Mum: “We all thought that, so we repurposed the training boob.”

Me: “I— Wait, what? A model boob was supplied to your colleagues for training and… Where is it now?”

Mum: “In the bathroom.”

Me: “Model breast in our bath… huh?”

Mum: “Since we didn’t need it, we reused it as a soap dispenser.”

Me: “I… What?”

Mum: “We obviously didn’t need it, so we might as well put it to good use. So, we glued it to the wall of the staff bathroom and added liquid soap. Press the nipple and soap comes out.”

I nearly peed myself with laughter.

I am a zookeeper and am making my way from one enclosure to another. As I walk past the elephants, I see an angry-looking mother dragging her poor daughter behind her. She sees me, realizes I work here, and makes a beeline for me.

Mother: “You! How dare you?!”

Me: “How can I help you, ma’am?”

Mother: “Do you abuse your animals?!”

Me: “Not at all, ma’am! We here at [Zoo] are proud of the quality of care we provide all of our animals!”

Mother: “Then why do you let the elephants do that in front of the children?!”

She points furiously while blocking the view of her scared-looking daughter using her coat. I can see straight away what she’s referring to. One of our elephants is the alpha male of his family, and this afternoon he is particularly… aroused.

Me: “Well, ma’am. That’s nature. Nothing we can do about that.”

Mother: “It’s obscene! How can you let him parade… that… in front of children?!”

Me: “Ma’am, this may be a zoo but these are still wild animals, and they will do what animals do. If you’re not ready to have that discussion with your child then you definitely shouldn’t take her to see the Bonobos!”

Bonobos are a type of ape who… well… do it a lot!

Mother: “It should be your responsibility to ensure the zoo is a family-friendly place to take my child! I demand to speak to your manager!”

Yes, she went there. The manager!

Me: “Ma’am, the manager of this zoo has no more control over the elephant and his member than I do. What did you expect him to be able to do?!”

Mother: “Then your elephant is a pervert and needs to be locked away! You must have abused him to make him that way! I will be writing to the paper about this!”

And with that, she stormed off toward the exit, shielding her daughter from the dangers of nature the entire way. We never did see the massive exposé in the paper about how our zoo animals had healthy sex drives, but then again, we didn’t check the joke section.

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