My husband’s sister was going to be nearby on business, so my husband and I decided we would drive to the city where she was staying to take her out for dinner. About 15 minutes before we arrived, I told my husband this rather long story about two women who bump into each other after not seeing each other for a few years.

The first woman was telling the second all the (rather unbelievable) things that had been happening in her life and after each one, the second woman would say, “Wow! That’s wonderful!” When the first woman finally asked the second what she had been doing lately, the second replied that she’d been going to charm school. “Oh, really? What do they teach you in charm school?” “They teach us to say, ‘Wow! That’s wonderful!’ instead of, ‘Bulls***.’”

Hubby chuckled at the joke and that was the end of it, or so he thought.

We were sitting there enjoying a meal and listening to my sister-in-law go on and on about her wonderful son — think the male version of the Princess Ballerina Astronaut. When she finally slowed down enough to draw breath, I commented, “Wow! That’s wonderful!”

Poor hubby snorted milk out his nose halfway across the restaurant.

(I am folding laundry just as my mother arrives, and I am about to fold a king-sized fitted sheet. One thing I brought away from working retail in bed-linen is the knowledge of how to fold fitted sheets. Mum quietly watches as I take moments to fold it neatly before putting it down on the table.)

Mum: “Wow, I’ve never seen that done before. I was waiting for you scream, swear, and then screw the sheet up like I do.”

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(I have just finished my holiday in Tenerife and am eating at an airport restaurant, sitting at a bar. An Australian man sits next to me.)

Aussie: *looks straight at me* “You all right, mate?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m good, thanks, just waiting for my plane.”

(We talk for a bit, and then he asks…)

Aussie: “So, where you from? USA?”

Me: *laugh* “No, I’m from England. I’m guessing your Australian, though?”

Aussie: “Yeah, I am. Nice, so, you’re from the Up-Top-Australia, eh?”

(I just stare at him for a few seconds and burst out laughing.)

Aussie: *confused chuckle* “What’s so funny?”

Me: “Never in my life have I ever heard England described as the ‘Up-Top-Australia.'”

Aussie: “So, what do you call Australia?”

Me: “Either ‘Australia,’ or we refer to it as ‘down under.'”

Aussie: “Really?”

Me: “Does everyone in the down-low-England call England that?”

Aussie: “No.”

Me: “So, you never thought in that time that England wasn’t known as that?”

Aussie: *laughing* “Never noticed, I guess. So Australia is the only country you call by a nickname? Nothing for say, Nigeria?”

(As I am about to say no, another dude from an unknown region, who has been listening a lot more than we realised, interjects and says:)

Random Guy: “Well, I call it ‘N*****-Country.’”

(We both stare at this guy.)

Random Guy: “I think I misread the conversation.” *pays and leaves*

(With a hour until my flight, the gates open I start to leave.)

Me: “Well, that was a funny conversation; thanks for the entertainment.”

Aussie: “It was an absolute pleasure, mate. Until next we meet, my up-most compadre.”

Me: *furiously trying to think of a witty thing to say* “See you, my downy friend.”

(Mentally bashing my head against the wall, I left, chuckling to myself.)

(I have extremely curly hair, which is the thing most people notice and remember about me. I am also a closeted woman-loving-woman who has told only a couple people.)

Me: *putting away fabric with coworker* “Hey, [Coworker], I just realized something I can say.”

Coworker: “What?”

Me: *shoves a bolt of fabric away and grins* “My hair is straighter than I am.”

Coworker: *laughing* “Oh, my. Yes, it is. It most certainly is.”

Me: “Wait, I did tell you before—”

Coworker: “Yeah, you mentioned your girlfriend before.”

Me: “Okay, I forgot if I did.”

Coworker: “I’m just going to make sure that you stay far away from any hair straighteners now.”

(My boyfriend and I are sitting at home eating our personal pints of ice cream. I’m about to take the last bite before putting it away for the night, so I dig out a chunk of brownie before handing him the pint to put in the freezer.)

Boyfriend: “You know, you always take such big spoonfuls of ice cream. It’s quite… vexing.”

(I stare at him in confusion, as he’s usually extremely laid back.)

Me: “My ice cream eating angers you?”

Boyfriend: “What? No!”

Me: “That’s what vexing means!”

Boyfriend: “Well, I didn’t know what vexing meant!”

Me: “Then why did you use it?!”

(He just throws up his hands and walks away. A few minutes later…)

Boyfriend: “So… vixen and vexing have nothing to do with each other?”

(The best part of this is that he’s a published author.)