Customer: “Excuse me, I was in your [Location] branch and there was a pair of trousers.”

They describe the trousers.

Me: “Yes, I know the ones you’re looking for. What size do you need? I’ll fetch them for you.”

Customer: “No, I don’t need the trousers, but in [Location], they were right next to a really nice top.”

Me: “So, you’re looking for the top? Can you describe that to me?”

Customer: “Yes, it was next to the trousers I just described.”

Come on… How much can you really want a top that you can’t even describe?!

My friend and I, both girls and around twenty years old, are on holiday in Scotland. We book a room in a bed and breakfast run by a lovely elderly couple, only to realise we’re the only guests they have that week. It feels more like we’re grandkids visiting instead of being strangers.

One night, we decide to do one of the well-known Haunted Walking Tours of the city, where a guide shows you around the historic and “spooky” parts of town at night. We make sure to tell our hosts that we’ll be out all night.

Me: “We wanted to give you a heads-up that we’ll come back pretty late tonight, probably 1:00 am or later because of the tour. We don’t want to spook you when we get in!”

Host “Dad”: “Oh, sure, that’s fine. Just be careful when you walk back. Don’t go through the park; it’s very dark at night.”

We have a great time during the tour and tiptoe up the hallway of the bed and breakfast at 2:00 am, only to be met with a small lamp still on in the shared living room. Host “Dad” is sitting on the couch in a dressing gown reading a book.

Host “Dad”: “Oh, good! You’re back. Now I can go to bed. Everything went all right?”

The old man — and his wife, probably — were so worried about two young girls being out on the town at night that he waited for us until 2:00 am to make sure we got home safe. To this day, it’s one of the sweetest experiences I’ve ever had travelling.

It’s the first week of classes in my first week at university away from home when one of my wisdom teeth literally shatters in the middle of lunch. After a bit of calling around, I discover that since I’m not registered with a dentist in my new city yet, my only option to get the remaining jagged shards removed is the emergency after-hours clinic at the hospital. Since any movement of my jaw slices my cheek into ribbons, I don’t have much choice.

I’ve managed to get myself cast in the theatre society’s next play and the first read-through is this evening, so my next call is to the director. It’s relevant that this play is a satire with some VERY adult themes.

Me: “I’m really sorry, [Director], but I can’t make it tonight.”

[Director] gives a long, despairing groan.

Director: “I will make any changes to the script you want, but I’m begging you not to drop out on me.”

Me: “What? No! I’m not dropping out. I have a dental emergency, and even if I’m not in the chair during rehearsal, I won’t be able to speak.”

Director: “You’re sure? You’ve read the script. You’re okay with it?”

Me: “Yeah. I won’t be inviting my granny to see it, but I think it’s pretty funny.”

Director: “Oh, thank God. My lead actress and both parts of the double-act dropped out as soon as they saw the script. The lead actor is wavering, too. I couldn’t take another dropout.”

I got my tooth out — which was a disaster — and made the second rehearsal. The play went great and I’m still friends with some of my fellow cast members nearly twenty years later.

I’m walking through a park and a very sweet puppy comes over to say hello. I don’t pet it in case that isn’t okay with its owner, but I greet it as warmly as I can.

Me: “Hey, cutie!”

The puppy’s owner whirls round to glare at me.

Owner: “He’s a boy, actually!”

The owner stormed off, pulling the poor puppy behind him. I didn’t think puppies had a concept of gender, let alone one so fragile that being called a cutie might threaten one’s masculinity.

We have two older dogs. My boy has a bad leg and is a complete pushover. My girl is going blind and has a well-managed chronic pain condition and knows she’s queen bee. We have two dog beds in front of the TV. One is snuggly and the other is firm for when too many blankets would make it difficult for one of them to get up. 

This evening, I am watching TV and my boy is in the snuggly bed, having earlier pulled his favourite blanket from the firm one and into the snuggly one, and my girl is in the firm one. She decides she wants some comfort and climbs into the snuggly bed, lying on top of his bad leg. He gets up and glares at her. 

Then, he goes deliberately into the kitchen to my dad. Dad assumes he wants out and opens the back door. My girl can’t resist a chance to go outside and immediately gets up and trots outside. My boy turns round and gets back in the bed she just vacated. 

Who says dogs don’t have good reasoning skills?