(My partner and I are both Generation X. We’re in the car listening to the radio.)

DJ: ”…and tune in this weekend when we play all the songs from the 80s you grew up with! This is [callsign], your favorite Internet oldies station!” *starts playing U2*

Me: *disgruntled* “I really wish they’d stop calling 80s music ‘oldies.’ It’s not!”

Partner: “Well, it was almost forty years ago.” 

Me: *doing the math and finding no way around it* “Shut up.”

(It’s my daughter’s birthday and we are having a small family party for her. My sister and her partner have come over. The partner is an overbearing, arrogant piece of s*** who expects everyone to work to his rules. After my daughter opens her gifts, he pulls me aside.)

Sister’s Partner: “We bought that–” *indicates toy* “–for [Daughter], with my money, so I don’t want [Daughter’s Best Friend] playing with it because I can’t stand that kid.”  

(If the toy had been of any interest to the kid I would have made sure she played with it. My daughter had no interest, either, and it soon went to charity.)

(My husband and I are at a high school concert to watch our two nieces perform. We are both in our 40s, but he’s got six extra years on me. The senior band starts playing Earth, Wind, and Fire’s “September.”)

Me: *to my husband* “You realize this was already playing on oldies stations when they were babies, right?”

Husband: *sigh of oldness*

(The senior band starts playing Henry Mancini’s “Pink Panther Theme,” with our elder niece wailing away on the lead sax.)

Me: “And this was playing on oldies stations when their parents were babies! Feel old yet?”

Husband: *even deeper sigh of oldness*

(We’re the family from The Cats Demand You Spill The Beans. This time, my husband is in the kitchen grinding pork butt and mixing it with spices to make sausages. I overhear the following exchange between him and one of our cats.)

Cat: *whiny meow*

Husband: “This is pork butt. You don’t want this.” 

Cat: *whiny meow*

Husband: “This is raw pork. Does the word ‘trichinosis’ mean anything to you?”

Cat: *whiny meow*

Husband: “Even your wildest ancestors could not have taken down a pig. Why would you even want raw pork? It doesn’t taste like ham. This is ham before it’s ham. It doesn’t even smell like ham.”

Cat: *whiny meow*

Husband: “We already discussed this, remember? You told me you wanted it, and I told you no, because it would make you very sick? Now stop it.” 

(The cat whined once more and apparently accepted defeat because she wandered off to sit in the hallway, staring wistfully into the kitchen. Life is hard when you’re a cat whose humans love you.)

(My husband gets a new coworker who was supposed to be of higher qualification, but this guy is consistently behind and incomplete on his work, so my husband has to pick up after him. Thankfully, the coworker transfers to another job at a different company — for a while. I get this text from my beloved while we are both at work.)

Husband: “So, that incompetent guy is back. His other job ‘fell through,’ which I’m guessing means he sucked there, too. Now I get to find ways to keep him occupied while I’m busy.”

Me: *texting back* “Sorry, hun. By ‘fell through,’ I’m imagining someone cutting the floor out from under him Looney-Tunes style.”

Husband: “Yeah, but he’s holding the saw.”