(In the state where I live, minors cannot sell alcohol, so we have to call over a supervisor when customers come through with it. Unfortunately, many customers get infuriated when I say I’m a minor, so I’ve come up with a new method, which I’ve used on multiple occasions, to keep the peace. Below is an actual account of one of those occasions.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but a supervisor will have to come over to scan your vodka.”

Customer: “Why’s that?”

Me: “It’s in violation of my parole to handle alcohol.”

Customer: “Seriously?”

Me: “Yeah, I can’t touch it until I’m 25.”

Customer: “I’m sorry, man. That sucks. I’ll wait for your supervisor.”

(A few seconds pass.)

Customer: “Was it for driving?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Well, it’s a good thing you can’t touch it; that’ll save you money. If you don’t mind me asking, what was it for?”

(At this point the supervisor showed up and sold the alcohol. The man left, still thinking I was on parole. I told my supervisor what happened and we laughed about it.)

(In the midst of the spate of sexual harassment stories in the media, my wife puts down the newspaper with a grunt and a sigh.)

Me: “Do I grope you or do I fondle you?”

Wife: “Both, sometimes.”

Me: “What’s the difference? Because I thought I had been gently fondling you for 42 years.”

Wife: “Groping is when I don’t want to be fondled.”

Me: “…”

Wife: “Shut up.”

(My mum and I have just seen the new Star Wars and are walking home, discussing the movie.)

Mum: “I really liked Kylo Ren; he was very well played. And, you know, the actor is a beefcake.”

Me: *bursts out laughing* “I knew you would say that! I kept glancing at you during his shirtless scene, just waiting for you to lean over and whisper, ‘Beefcake…’”

(When our daughter is only two weeks old, my husband and I are admiring her as she wiggles around, making her baby noises.)

Me: “She’s just so precious. I don’t want her to ever grow up.”

Husband: “Nah, she’s pretty boring. I can’t wait for her to be one or two, when she’ll be entertaining and fun to play with.”

(Jump forward to her being 13 months old. She has started a phase of running in circles, and yelling and screaming at the top of her lungs, non-stop, for fun.)

Husband: “Oh, my God! Make it stop! My head hurts! Why is she so loud? Why are you laughing?”

Me: “Remember when she was just a newborn, and you said she was boring and you couldn’t wait for her to be a toddler and be more fun? Careful what you wish for.”

(He says he wants three more kids. Let’s see how that goes.)

(My boyfriend and I have discovered that one of our favorite independent movies has been removed from our movie-streaming network. We tend to joke around a lot and feign being overly dramatic.)

Boyfriend: “I guess we’ll just have to find it on DVD, or something. We’ll probably have to find it in some obscure, faraway shop, or we might have to battle to the death in some distant, foreign country to get it.”

Me: *wide eyes and gasps* “Yeah, like somewhere called…” *pause, pronounces strained and incorrectly* “…Ama-zoh-n!”