In high school, I took a political theory class that was essentially a series of role-playing games. One of the first ones we did had each student as the ruler of a 100 mile square country, with our grades determined by our country’s economic status at the end of the game.

A group of five other students banded together to invade my country, leaving my country super poor. My solution? I legalized the growth and export of opium poppies. By the time the guys who had invaded my country figured it out, their economies were suffering due to rampant narcotic use. They threatened to take a ton of money from my country, but I told them I would make it illegal again.

While I did make opium poppies illegal again, I let the teacher know that I wasn’t going to enforce the law, so I avoided losing my country’s money while still making bank with the export of opium. Some of my classmates legalized medical narcotics in their countries, so I was also making money by exporting to them.

In the end, pretty much every country in the class had a ton of opium use. Mine was fairly mild, but all the classmates who had originally invaded my country had their economies ruined. I ended up regaining most of my lost grade and getting a B+ or A-, while they all got poor grades.

(A couple and their three-year-old son are shopping in my bookstore. We have a back section accessed by three steps, and the little boy has decided to run up and down the stairs a few times. He ends up landing in a heap at the bottom and sits there for a bit, deciding if he’s hurt enough to cry.)

Woman: “Oh, dear, [Son]. Did you get a boo-boo? Do you want me to kiss it better?”

(The little boy nods and his mother kisses his forehead.)

Boy: “But I hurt my butt!”

Woman: “Okay, do the downward dog, and I’ll kiss that, too.”

(It was so hard to keep from laughing.)

(I have a sore throat and just started my period. My boyfriend is off to the store to get me some supplies. I ask him to bring some honey for my sore throat, but he doesn’t write that on his list so I half-assume he will forget, as he tends to be quite forgetful. I hear him come home so I go downstairs to the kitchen, and see he has brought the honey.)

Me: “Oh, fantastic, you remembered!”

(Due to hormones, my gratitude is unbelievable and I start to tear up. My boyfriend then proceeds to conjure a HUGE chocolate bar from the grocery bag, holds it to my crotch and yells:)

Boyfriend: “SATAN HAS BEEN FED!”

(The humor and overwhelming gratitude, amplified by my period, get the best of me, and I start sobbing hysterically and smothering my boyfriend in the tightest hug.)

Me: *sobbing like crazy* “TH…TH…TH… THANK YOU!”

Boyfriend: *is genuinely TERRIFIED and stutters* “Wha… what did I do? Wrong flavor?”

Me: *still sobbing* “I LOVE YOU!”

(He carefully tried to pry himself free of my smothering embrace, seriously concerned about what was wrong with me. I finally calmed down and blamed it on the hormones. Now, every time the topic of periods comes up, he mentions this story again and how scared and confused he was. “Don’t ever do that again!” he begs me.)

(I’m playing some improv D&D in a club, which means there aren’t levels or anything and you make up your equipment. Our group is fighting two enemies as a boss fight. One of them is incredibly strong and can knock anyone out with a single punch, and the other has a ray gun which knocks anyone out but needs to charge. I’m next to the guy with a ray gun and I’m without a weapon.)

Dungeon Master: “[Guy With Ray Gun]’s turn. He charges up his gun.”

Friend #1: “Okay. I try to shoot him in the face, then take the ray gun from him and aim it at him.”

(He rolls a 19.)

Dungeon Master: “You succeed in shooting him in the face. He screams in pain and drops the ray gun, and you dart over and pick it up, charging it to aim at him. [My Name], your turn.”

Me: “Uh, what’s [Guy With Ray Gun] doing right now?”

Dungeon Master: “He is trying to pull the arrow out of his face.”

Me: “I don’t have a weapon, so I can’t directly attack him, and since he doesn’t understand our language, I can’t talk to him, correct?”

Dungeon Master: “I mean, you could try to attack him with your bare fists, but…”

Me: “Okay, I try to tickle him in the armpits, to distract him and hopefully incapacitate him with laughter, so [Friend #1] can hit him next turn.”

(I roll a seven; it’s not a very good roll considering [Guy With Ray Gun] is using a thirty sided die.)

Dungeon Master: *rolls* “Um, I guess that works. You tickle him. He stands there unfazed, and then suddenly drops to the ground, dead.”

(The entire group burst out in laughter. Apparently the arrow had almost killed him and he rolled a one. The strong guy spent the rest of the game focusing all his attacks on me, so I nearly died and never got another turn, but we won, so all’s well that ends well!)

(My coworkers and I all get along very well. We tend to talk even outside of work and hang out together. The following occurs while we’re all out for dinner together one evening, and one of my coworkers has been having a rough week.)

Me: “Well, just let me know if I can do anything. Even if you need to vent. I mean, I consider you a friend, so don’t feel like you’re overstepping bounds or anything.”

Coworker #1: “Aw, [My Name], thank you. It’s mutual. You’re like the cool sister I never knew I wanted.”

Coworker #2: “Ugh, save it for the funeral, you two.”

Me: “Don’t be jealous, [Coworker #2]; we love you, too.”

Coworker #1: “Kinda.”

Boss: “He’s just jealous because if you two are brother and sister, he’s like the annoying loud uncle who shows up at family gatherings just for the food.”

Coworker #2: “Hey! More like they’re the annoying, lame cousins your mother forces you to hang out with when they come visit for summer vacation.”

Coworker #1: “He still considers us family. That’s beautiful, dude.”