All Relationships Start Out Cheesy

, , , , , , | Romantic | October 20, 2017

(My fiancé has recently proposed to me. We rent our home next door to my father in an effort to save money. This can be convenient at times, if my father or I run out of something, if one of us can go to the store for the other, etc. My fiancé and I are sitting at home for the evening when I get a call from a family friend, who is currently visiting my father.)

Friend: “Hey, [My Name], do you guys have any cheese?”

Me: “Yeah, but it belongs to [Fiancé].”

Friend: “Oh. Do you think I could have some? Wait… Your dad wants to talk to you.”

(My father comes onto the line and asks the same question, saying that our friend is out of the usual snacks we keep on hand for her when she visits, since she is allergic to gluten.)

Me: “Hey, [Fiancé], can [Friend] have a couple slices of cheese?”

Fiancé: *rather reluctant since it’s an expensive brand* “Ehhh, I dunno.”

Me: *to my father* “[Fiancé] wants to be compensated. What does he get?”

Father: “He gets to marry my daughter. How about that?”

Me: “Okay!” *to fiancé* “My dad says you can marry me if you give [Friend] cheese. What do you think? You wanna buy me for two slices of cheese?”

(Our friend got her cheese!)

A Cents-able Waste Of Time

, , , | Right | October 19, 2017

(I walk up to the line at the post office to purchase a stamp for my letter and stand behind a mother who is frantically trying to keep her rambunctious toddler in check. I can tell she has been waiting here for quite some time, as the elderly lady in front of her is asking a hundred questions about the package she wants to deliver. The mother has to leave the line a couple times to get her toddler to come back into line. She apologizes numerous times and I tell her not to worry about it. The first lady finally finishes and the mother takes her turn. She ends up having to change the size of her box, run out of line to fetch her child, and has trouble finding the cash to pay. She continues to apologize with each incident that arises. I smile and tell her there is no rush and to take her time. She finally finishes, thanks me for my patience, and pulls over to the side to corral her toddler and put her wallet into her purse. I walk up to the clerk.)

Me: “Hello, I’d like to mail this letter. I know the mailing price increased over the new year and I have an old stamp on this letter. I would like a one-cent stamp to make up for the increase, please.”

(The clerk and lady just looked at me and laughed, as it took me about a half-hour to get a one-cent stamp.)

Sick To One’s Engine

, , , , , | Friendly | October 18, 2017

(I am moving six hours away from home for grad school. This involves packing up my one-bedroom apartment and moving my furniture two hours away to a relative’s house for storage, plus getting rid of my car. I talk to my sister, who amazingly offers to come down and help and get her friend to drive the moving truck, after I told her I wasn’t sure I could do it. She, her friend, and my nieces, ages two and four, drive down to help. My car gets picked up shortly after they arrive by a guy with a flatbed truck. My nieces sit on my porch, fascinated, and very concerned about where my car is going. I try to explain by saying I don’t need the car anymore and that it’s very old and run-down, but I can tell they don’t quite get it. For backstory, my sister’s friend is a mechanic and drives large diesel trucks for a living, and the girls know this. Hours later, after everything is unpacked and in storage, I am playing with my two-year-old niece in the backyard. An ambulance drives by with its sirens on. My niece stops to watch.)

Niece: “Fire truck!”

Me: “That’s an ambulance, honey. It’s taking someone who is hurt or sick to the hospital.”

Niece: “Auntie’s car! Hospital!”

Me: “Right, you saw my car get hauled away this morning.”

Niece: “Hospital. Sick.”

Me: “Uh…”

(At this point, my sister’s friend walks over to us, having heard the conversation.)

Friend: “[Nieces] were very worried about your car. They kept asking me where it went. Finally, I had to tell them that the guy took it to the hospital because it was sick, so I could fix it, just so they stopped asking me the same question over and over!”

Me: “Well, you’re not wrong, except I’d classify it as terminal!”

And You’re Mean To Boot

, , , , , | Romantic | October 18, 2017

(My husband and I are getting ready for the day when following conversation happens.)

Me: “I told someone on the internet that they are wrong. Someone attacked my personality and I had to start a debate, you know? And a person kept trying to conjure some arguments, but all they got was a set of logical fallacies. I was forced to point them out. The person kept trying. I kept pointing out why my statement is correct and their argument has no ground. I think the other person was more invested in proving me wrong. And I had fun. I am so mean.”

Husband: “You are not mean. You just want to wipe your feet on them.”

Me: “Not my feet. My muddy boots.”

Husband: “Okay. Your shoes?”

Me: “My. Muddy. Boots.”

Husband: “I take it back. You are mean.”

Refusing To Provide Closure

, , , , , | Working | October 17, 2017

(I have a job in which I am paired with a colleague and sent to various neighborhoods around town. If our assignments are close enough to the office, we walk. For a while, I am paired with a guy who is nice enough but has a few odd personality quirks. Sometimes, the only way for me to avoid getting mad at him is to play some harmless practical jokes. We are walking back to the office one evening after an assignment that went longer than expected. It is dark, and the street we are on is mostly deserted.)

Colleague: “I’m going to walk with my eyes closed!”

Me: “Why?”

Colleague: “Just for fun.”

(He mostly closes his eyes, but I can tell he is keeping one open just a tiny bit.)

Me: “Hey, watch out for that big rock!”

Colleague: “What? Where?”

(He opens his eyes and looks around, almost falling over while trying to avoid tripping over a rock that isn’t there.)

Colleague: “Hey! There’s no rock! You tricked me!”

Me: “Well, maybe you shouldn’t walk with your eyes closed, then.”

Colleague: “Hmph!”

(He closes his eyes again. I wait a minute or two.)

Me: “Oh, look! A dollar on the sidewalk!”

Colleague: “It’s mine!”

(He darts forward a few steps, searching the ground. When he realizes there is no dollar, he glares at me. I laughs.)

Colleague: “Jerk.”

Me: *laughing*

(And he closes his eyes again!)

Colleague: “I’m not going to let you trick me again. I don’t care what you say; I’m not falling for it.”

(I try warning him about another nonexistent rock, but it doesn’t work. He gets a smug look on his face. I get another idea.)

Me: “Good evening, ma’am. Lovely time for a walk, isn’t it?”

(My colleague opens his eyes and looks around, trying to figure out who I am talking to. There is nobody on the sidewalk except us, but until I burst out laughing, he is convinced that I am talking to someone.)

Colleague: “That’s it. I’m requesting a transfer.”

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