(I am 17 years old. My mother and I are in Paris, France, for a couple of days so that I can take the entrance exam for one of the universities I’ve applied to. This conversation happens in French while waiting to go into the exam room. My family is mostly bilingual.)

Me: “I’m really nervous. What if I fail? I kept failing a lot of the general knowledge questions in the practice tests.”

Mom: “It’ll be fine; you’ll see. Want a hug?”

Me: *in English, taking a step back, unable to choose the best words* “No! I don’t love you in public.”

(A random person nearby burst out laughing at the horror in my voice at being seen in public with my mother.)

(We live in a two-level house, where one level is basement-level and the other is ground-level. Our bedroom is in the basement level, with the living room directly over it. One night, my husband is staying up watching a movie, and I’ve decided to go to bed. Right before falling asleep, I remember that I made fresh hummus and he put it in the freezer to chill a few hours before. Worried that it may be frozen, I send him a message.)

Me: “HUMMUS! It must be saved from the ice caves of Fridge Island, or it shall be doomed to never be cherished and savored again. That would be a loss for us all.”

(I count twenty seconds between sending the message and hearing him jump from the couch above me, jog to the kitchen, rip open a bag of chips, and get the hummus from the freezer. Ten minutes later I hear him sit back down. I get a message back.)

Husband: “This… This is what marriage is about.”

(I am in class, and a girl I’ve seen around school has straightened her hair. It’s usually pretty curly, so I comment on it.)

Me: “Your hair’s so pretty and straight!”

Girl: “Unlike me.”

(I take that to mean she has self-esteem issues, so I try to console her.)

Me: “Don’t say that. You’re pretty!”

Girl: “Oh, no. I’m pretty. I’m just not straight.”

(I cracked up so hard my stomach still hurts.)

(I broke my leg and have just been loaded into the ambulance. The paramedic gives me some morphine. I get a little silly once the drugs kick in.)

Me: *to paramedic* “Oh, you smell so goooooood.”

(Once I get to the hospital, they temporarily sedate me to set my leg. I wake up as they are wrapping my leg in gauze. My leg is puffy and white.)

Me: “Hashtag marshmallow!”

(A customer calls my store to place a cake order for the following week. When I ask for a name for the order, this happens.)

Me: “And can I get a name for your order, please?”

Customer: “[First Name] [Last Name #1]. No, [Last Name #2]. [Last Name #1] is my maiden name.” *the customer starts laughing* “I can’t believe I said that.”

Customer’s Husband: *in the background* “We’ve only been married 35 years.”