(Halloween isn’t an official holiday in Australia, although some children will trick or treat. We always buy chocolate just in case. The day after Halloween:)
Husband: *stuffing his face with chocolate* “It’s such a shame that all those kids came and took all our chocolate.”
Me: *stuffing my face with chocolate* “Yeah… Terrible.”
(No children came.)
(Because I am showing signs of preeclampsia, my doctor decides to induce me. My mom comes from two states away to be there for the delivery, but I honestly wish she would have stayed away because she cannot behave herself.)
Mom: *jumping up and fondling my belly at the first signs of contractions* “I just hated people touching me when I was having contractions!”
(My husband sees the murderous glint in my eyes and turns to his mom, making a suggestion before I can say anything.)
Husband: “Ma? Why don’t you take our DVD player and you two go watch a movie in the waiting room? We’ll probably be here a while.”
(My mother-in-law catches the aura of pure pregnancy-hormone-enhanced rage coming from me while my mom continues her assault on my abdomen)
Mother-In-Law: “That’s a good idea. [Mom], let’s go out to the waiting room.”
Mom: *still oblivious* “We’re okay in here; aren’t we?”
Husband: “But you were saying you hadn’t watched [Movie] yet, and we brought it. Maybe you’d like a coffee or something while you watched it? And it’s so much quieter in the waiting room.”
Mother-In-Law: *talking my mom by the arm and firmly leading her away* “Coffee sounds great.”
(Later, when the OB/GYN is explaining the situation and recommending a C-section, my mom decides the Q&A is open-forum:)
Me: “What are the odds of labor progressing normally?”
OB-GYN: “I’d give it about 20%, but the longer you wait the more likely we are to see irreparable brain trauma because of oxygen deprivation.”
Husband: “What are the other options?”
OB-GYN: “Honestly? It’s either a nice, leisurely C-section now or an emergency one later.”
Mom: *deciding she’s going to ask the REAL questions* “And how soon can they go back to having sex?” *turning to me* “If you go with a natural labor, you can start having sex again sooner!”
OB-GYN: *ushering everyone out of the room when she sees the glint in my eye* “Okay. Why don’t we let them have some time to discuss this between themselves?”
(In all honesty, it takes us two seconds to decide; our sex life is far less of a priority than our son’s well-being! While I am in recovery and my husband is giving our son his first bath and helping with first shots, my mom is in the waiting room pacing and assaulting everyone wearing scrubs with demands of my condition when they walk by. Every time they explain that they don’t know, but that I am probably still in recovery because anaesthesia takes time to wear off, she becomes more agitated until:)
Mom: *after being told that the staff she is harassing didn’t know my condition* “You’re lying to me! You all just don’t want to tell us she died on the table! TELL ME WHAT’S HAPPENING!”
(They had to ask my husband to leave our son to assure her that I was still alive and, as the staff had said, still in recovery waiting until I could wiggle my toes. I’ve made a mental note to not tell her when I’m in labor if I ever have another child.)
Years ago, my husband’s uncle was shopping for lingerie for his wife. Unfortunately, he really did not know anything about bra sizes, let alone what size his wife wore.
When the saleswoman asked about size, [Uncle] doffed his hat, looked around, and said, “Seven and a half.”
(My husband and I are having one of the worst nights of our lives. I won’t go into the full story, but it involves an argument, a broken-down car, and dealing with a parade of rude, inconsiderate people. We’re finally on our way home, around 1:00 am, and since neither of us have had dinner, I stop at a 24-hour fast food restaurant. There’s a sign on the drive-through speaker to pull through and order at the window, so I pull up. The girl who comes to the window looks to be in her early twenties, and she has the biggest, most sincere smile on her face.)
Cashier: “Well, good evening to you, folks! How are you doing tonight?”
Me: “Ha… Well… To be honest, it’s been a rough night, but it’s almost over.”
Cashier: “I’m sorry to hear that! Let’s get your order through so you can get home!”
(I order, and she has this incredible, cheerful attitude throughout the whole transaction. It’s kind of infectious, and I’m smiling, too, by the time we get our meal.)
Cashier: *hands us our food out the window* “Here you go, sweetie! I hope you get home safely and that tomorrow is much better for you!”
Me: *nearly crying from finally being around someone nice* “Thank you! You have a good night.”
(The next day, I am still thinking about that cashier, so I call the restaurant and ask for a manager.)
Manager: “Yes?” *sounding a little wary*
Me: *thinking he must be the one who handles complaint calls* “I just wanted to tell you that the cashier you had on the drive-through last night was wonderful!”
Manager: *surprised* “Oh? Well, thank you very much. Do you know their name?”
Me: “No, I didn’t think to ask her, but she looked college-age. We came through around 1:00 am and we had [order]. Maybe you could look up our transaction in the computer?”
Manager: “That’s very helpful; I’ll give that a try. And thank you for letting us know about her.”
Me: “Absolutely! We were having a terrible night, and she made it so much better.”
Manager: “Well, I’ll make sure she is rewarded for making our customers so happy!”
(It was a little thing, but that girl really was the bright spot in an otherwise completely horrible evening. I hope to run into her there again!)
(My hubby and I are watching a family on on [Video Website]. They’re vlogging at their sister’s wedding. The vlogger is dancing with his sister during the father-daughter dance.)
Husband: “Why is he doing that?”
Me: “He walked her down the aisle.”
Husband: “Oh. One of those types of fathers?”
Me: “What?”
Husband: “The type of father that doesn’t come to their daughter’s wedding.”
Me: “I think the father is dead.”
Husband: “Oh, okay! That’s a good excuse.”
