What A Complete Let Down

, , , , , | Related | January 2, 2018

(My spouse and I have a two week old newborn. I have just finished showering while he watched her and I am now nursing her.)

Spouse: “Look! She follows me if I make eye contact with her!”

(He proceeds to catch her eyes and move around. She’s nursing horizontally so she looks up to follow his movement. He moves out of sight, so she leans back to keep him in view, losing her latch in the process. If you are unfamiliar with nursing, there’s a reflex called “let down” that sends milk out. It does not have an off switch and can be anything from just some dampness to a fountain. I’m gifted with a strong “let down” reflex.)

Me: “[Spouse]! Do not unplug the baby! I’m getting milk everywhere! Where’s her burp cloth?! I just showered!”

Spouse: “What? She’s not a wireless baby?”


, , , , | Friendly | January 2, 2018

(This is 20 years ago. I’m at a friend’s house and I’m to answer her phone while she’s out.)

Me: “Hello.”

Caller: “Hi, is [Friend] there?”

Me: “She’s out. Can I ask her to call you back?”

Caller: “Okay, sure. It’s ‘local’ calling.”

Me: “I’m sorry. Can I have—”


Me: “—your name, please?”

(I tell my friend, anyway.)

Friend: *laughs* “It’s my friend Loco. L-O-C-O.”

Me: *laughs* “He calls himself ‘Crazy’?”

Friend: “Well, he really likes trains.”

(I never met the guy. and then I heard they were out of touch, until recently.)

Friend: *texts picture of herself and a guy* “Met up with a really old friend today. It’s been 18 years!”

Me: “Good for you. Hey, any chance he’s Loco?”

Friend: “Yup! How’d you know?”

Me: “He’s a 40-year-old guy with a Thomas the Tank Engine shirt and a hat that says ‘Indian Railways.'”

A Tatty Tattoo

, , , , | Hopeless | January 1, 2018

(A friend of mine works as an artist in a tattoo parlor. One of his friends is well-known for being a weird and all-around goofy kind of person, and is also a regular. He comes in for a consultation on his next tattoo.)

Friend: “Okay, so, what is it that you want?”

Regular: “I want this on my left bicep, surrounded by roses!”

(He hands over a printed out paper that says, “NO REGERTS,” in Comic Sans.)

Regular: “And it needs to be in that exact font!”

Friend: “You realize you spelled ‘regrets’ wrong, right?”

Regular: “Well, duh! I want it spelled exactly like that!”

Friend: “Is that really what you want on your bicep for the rest of your life?”

Regular: “Yep! That way if I die in a horrible accident, when my wife comes to identify the body, she can take one look at that tattoo, sigh, and go, ‘Yes, that’s my husband, all right.’”

(My friend said it was painful to do an intentionally bad tattoo, but according to him, it fit his friend’s personality perfectly, and the guy seemed happy with it, anyway.)

When It Isn’t “More The Merrier”

, , , , , , , , | Related | January 1, 2018

(My parents have hosted Christmas Eve for both sides of the family as long as I can remember. Gatherings in my family are informal; a few people sit at tables for comfort or practicality, but many of us occupy couches or the floor around coffee tables. When I was growing up we lived in a large house, but my parents downsized about seven years ago. This year, for the first time since they moved, basically everyone is coming. Nobody is with in-laws, and some of the old “kids table” group have their own children now, so the total expected head count is larger than it’s ever been at their current place. Four generations will be represented. My mom can be rather uptight and is more of the planner than my dad, so I text her and ask if she wants me to bring an extra dessert, knowing we’ll have so many people. A few moments later my phone rings.)

Me: “Hi, Mom!”


Me: “Um… What?”


Me: *laughing* “It’ll be fine! It’s always fine.”

(I can hear my dad yell to her from the background, “Nobody will care! There’s never enough chairs, anyway!”)


Me: “So, should I bring the bundt cake?”

Mom: “Yes, please! You can eat it in the bathroom, too!”

His Gift-Giving Skills Are Getting Sharper

, , , , , , , | Related | January 1, 2018

(My dad is a bit of an odd duck. When going through the Christmas present my parents have sent for my boyfriend and me, I pull two small rectangular boxes out of a package, each with one of our names on them.)

Me: “Oh, I almost missed these; they’re so small. Wow, they’re pretty heavy, too… Wait…”

Boyfriend: “What?”

Me: “They’re small, heavy, there’s one for each us, and they’re from my dad.”

Boyfriend: “Knives?”

Me: “Knives.”

(They were, indeed, two very nice pocket knives. I still know my dad’s tastes.)

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