I do a lot of work around the house — repairs and DIY. I have been thinking about building some fitted wardrobes, so when my wife keeps pushing me for ideas for my upcoming birthday, a new battery drill would be perfect.

I’ve only ever had cheap unbranded tools before, so I pick out a really affordable brand-name drill and even send her a picture of the one I specifically want.

A few weeks later, I open a very heavy box to find… an unbranded version.

Wife: “They didn’t have the one you wanted, so I got this one. Look, it comes with all these tools.”

It comes with some cheap drill bits.

Me: “Thank you. I have to admit, I was hoping for the other one.”

Wife: “They’re the same, aren’t they?”

Me: “Not really, no. I  was really looking for one with a bit more power. Plus, I think I mentioned that I was hoping to buy more [Brand] products and just have the one battery.”

Wife: “I think you’re just being picky.”

Me: “I’m not trying to be ungrateful, but this just won’t do the job.”

Wife: *In a huff* “Well, I guess I can return it.”

I felt bad, but we have always said that we would rather get each other something we actually wanted, and I have done the same for her in the past.

After several months of her “forgetting” or “not having time” to return the drill, she let me know she had lost the receipt and couldn’t return it.

I used the new drill for the first time, and I think it’s worse than my old one. It struggles to drill any large hole and the charge time is rubbish. 

I’m still the bad guy if I use my old drill. I think I will buy my own tools from now on.

I see an older man standing in front of the counter, so I assume he wants to order and head over. I look young, but I’m twenty-five and married.

Me: “Hello! What can I do for you today?”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t know yet what I’ll like. I’m just waiting for my wife here. She will then tell me what I want!”

He tells me this in a weirdly solemn voice, so I assume he is joking. I attempt to joke with him.

Me: “I’m sure you can know yourself what you’ll like if you try!”

Customer: *In a completely serious tone now* “I see you obviously don’t have a man in your life. Don’t you know that as soon as a man is married, his wife gets to make all the decisions?”

I wait for him to start laughing, but he only stares down at me. I realize he’s actually serious.

Me: *Uncomfortable* “Uh, well, I’m going to ask my husband how he feels about that when I get home.” 

Customer: “Oh, yes. Ask him. I will wait for my wife.”

He didn’t move an inch from his spot and kept staring at me while I continued with my tasks until another customer approached me. I attended several more customers before an older woman entered the store who turned out to be his wife. I saw him show her something on my counter. I could not make out what they were saying, but they had a short discussion and then the wife ushered her husband out, without buying anything.

I still don’t know if I should feel sorry for that man… but he seemed to absolutely believe what he said.

My Dad was a milkman for around twenty-five years, in the days when most people had bottles of milk delivered to their doorsteps. He used to deliver seven mornings a week, starting around 5 am, then go out Thursday and Friday evenings collecting the money.

One winter evening he knocks on the kitchen door of one house. The wife opens the door and steps out.

Wife: “I’m just on my way out, but he’ll pay you.”

She points to her husband, who is sitting on the far side of the kitchen by the fire. My Dad looks at the husband, the husband looks at Dad.

Husband: “No, I’m too warm by this fire, I’m not moving. Come back tomorrow.”

Dad: “Come on, stop mucking around. I want to get home tonight.”

Husband: Adamant. “No, I’m too cosy. Come back tomorrow.”

At 5.30 am the next morning, my Dad is standing on their front doorstep, thumping on their door as hard as he can:

Dad: “Morning! Milko! I’ve come for the money.”

He can hear them starting shouting indoors:

Wife: “You go down.”

Husband: “I’m not going down.”

Wife: “You were the one who wouldn’t bloody pay him!”

Eventually, the wife opens the door and hands the money to Dad. As she does so, she looks him straight in the eye and just says:

Wife: “You Sod!”

The money was always waiting for him at that house after that.

Husband: “What is your email address?”

Me: “First initial, last name, and the month and day of my birthday.”

Husband: “How do you spell that?”

Me: “If I was bitten by a zombie, what would you do?”

Husband: “Shhhhh… Wait? What kind of zombie? Shaun Of The Dead, World War Z or Night Of The Living Dead zombie?”

Me: “Why?”

Husband: “Because World War Z zombies are fast, Shaun Of The Dead zombies can be trained, and Night Of The Living Dead zombies are slow.”

Me: “Um, Shaun Of The Dead.”

Husband: “I’d probably do what he did with Nick Frost at the end: train you to play video games with me. If you had picked one of the other two I would shoot you. Repeatedly. In the face.”