(Several years ago, I had an accident that required a skin graft on a knuckle. Present day: I hit my hand while working, causing the skin graft to split open, meaning I need stitches. I get to the hospital at about 4:30 pm, and it is PACKED. It is almost 2:00 in the morning before the doctor can even have a look at me.)

Doctor: “Yeah, you will need stitches, so I’m going to give you some novocaine to numb your finger up. We’ll give it 15 minutes to take effect, and get started.”

Me: “Don’t worry about that. It is a skin graft. You would need to poke me where I can feel it, to numb me up where I already can’t feel anything. Just sew it up, please.”

(The doctor agrees, gets a nurse to bring in the kit and hand him stuff, and starts stitching. I can’t feel a thing. After a few minutes, the nurse leans over and asks:)

Nurse: “So, is the novocaine still working?”

(In my defence, I am tired and incredibly bored, so I just look up with a horrified expression and say:)

Me: “I NEVER GOT ANY!”

(The nurse’s eyes almost pop out, and she is ready to flip out. The doctor just looks up at me and says:)

Doctor: “Oh, shut up, you baby.”

(Sorry, nurse, but the doc and I got a good laugh, at least.)

(I’m in PE with my two friends and this exchange occurs:)

Friend #1: “I’m a walking corpse.”

Friend #2: *singing in a cheerful voice* “Badabap.”

Me: “Hey, we’re supposed to be running corpses!”

Friend #2: “Oopsie-daisy. At least [Coach] isn’t watching us right now…”

Coworker: “Do you like musicals?”

Me: “I listened to nothing but Hamilton for eight months.”

Coworker: “Wow. Okay.”

(My brother is on his phone when our sister and I walk into the room.)

Brother: “Wow. I cannot spell today.”

Sister: *without missing a beat* “T-O-D-A-Y!”

(After a moment of silence we all burst out laughing.)

(My sex drive is considerably higher than my boyfriend’s, which isn’t usually a problem, except occasionally when he’ll worry that he’s pressuring me into sex, which at least with me, is virtually never the case. We’re talking about this at one point.)

Me: “With me, you can basically assume that if you want sex, I’ll also be down for it, and on the one-in-a-thousand chance that I’m not, I’ll just let you know. I’m like a siren, except less likely to lure you in and drown you.”

Boyfriend: “Are sirens known for being lustful? I thought they were mostly about the drownings.”

Me: “Hmm. A succubus then? Or a lamia, except less likely to steal your body heat?”

Boyfriend: “Now that’s a total lie; you steal my body heat constantly! We go to sleep, and you’re like, ‘Mmmm, come here; you’re so warm,’ and then I feel your icy feet!'”

Me: “Okay, we’ve found it. I’m a lustful lamia, except more likely to annoy you with cold feet than to freeze you to death!”

(A year later, he still uses “lamia” as a pet name. It very much amuses me!)