It’s my first day as a freshman at a college a few hours away from my family, and it also happens to be my nineteenth birthday! A friend of mine has just given me a large cookie cake with “Happy Birthday” written on it in large letters and is introducing me to some fellow freshmen she met during orientation.

One of the guys comes over to me and sees my cookie cake.

Guy: “Oh, nice cake! Is it your birthday today?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m nineteen today!”

Guy: “Cool. Mine is tomorrow, actually.” *Jokingly* “Do you think I could get a piece of that cake?”

Me: *Laughs out loud* “Sure!” 

And that’s the story I tell my children of how I met their father — and lured him in with a giant cookie!

A train station I’ve started frequenting has a cat, one of the cutest I’ve ever seen. I think she lives in one of the houses nearby. I’ve been trying to befriend her for about a month, but so far, I’ve had no luck. It’s not just me; I haven’t seen anyone manage to pat her yet. She’s friendly, but she just slinks away when you try and touch her.

Today, I’m on the train with my partner quite late at night (not my usual time), and I’m telling him about the cat. He seems very excited to see her. 

A teenage boy gets off at the same stop as us and makes it out the entrance first. Then, he stops dead and gasps.

Teenager: “[Cat]!”

He drops to his knees, and I watch in awe as the cat sprints across the road to leap into his arms. I’ve never seen a cat move that fast. Then, the teenager stands up and turns around, the cat in his arms. He notices us.

Teenager: “Want a pat?”

My partner and I both nod, and we do, in fact, get our pat. [Cat] is purring the whole time.

Me: “Is she yours?”

Teenager: “What? Oh, no, I just see her every so often. She’s pretty cute, right?”

My partner and I agreed, and we headed off, complete with the knowledge that we do have a chance at friendship. [Cat] is pretty cute, after all.

This story happened a long time ago in the ancient days when cell phones were not a thing, and you couldn’t just look up answers on your phone.

My mom and dad were at a bar when the song “Ruby Tuesday” came on. 

Mom: “Oh, I love this song! It’s by the Beatles, right?”

Dad: “No, it’s by the Rolling Stones.”

Mom: “No, that can’t be right.”

They came to the agreement that in order to figure this out, they would ask the other patrons at the bar. Long story short, through force of personality, my mom managed to convince the entire bar that she was correct and that “Ruby Tuesday” was by the Beatles.

When they went home, they looked it up. It’s by the Rolling Stones.

I got woken up between 7:00 and 8:00 am every Saturday by the same bunch asking if I’d found Jesus. At the time, I worked 10:00 pm to 6:00 am six nights a week, and all I wanted of a Saturday morning was sleep! I tried patiently explaining that, and the next weekend was a different couple, same spiel.

I got snarky and told them I didn’t know I was supposed to look for him, too; did he run off with Waldo? The next weekend, I said they should keep better track of him. I continued trying new lines every Saturday morning for weeks before I finally got them to stop…

Strangers: “Sir, have you found Jesus?”

Me: “Yeah, I have, and if you f***ers want him back this time, it’s gonna cost ya, big time!”

They never knocked on my door again.

Many years ago, I was poring over a clearance rack, looking for clothes for my niece and nephew, who always loved Aunt [My Name]’s clothes gifts when they were small. Now, I shudder to think what would happen if I tried to buy their clothes, but they are not part of this annoying experience.

I had pulled quite a few pieces for them and was looking for more when I felt a pain in my leg from behind. I turned and saw nothing, so I went back to bargain-hunting. Then, there was another pain, and again, I saw nothing to have caused it, so I turned sideways for better viewing.

Suddenly, a little boy jumped out from under the next rack full of adult clearance clothing with some kind of stick, and he poked my leg. This time, I saw him.

Me: “What’s your name?”

He did not answer but disappeared under the clothing again.

Now I was standing facing the rack he used for hiding. I saw him about to launch another assault, I stepped back, and he missed. This prompted him to scream as if he had been hurt, and a woman emerged from another part of the store. (Mamas know the cries of their offspring.)

Woman: “What did you do to my baby?!”

Me: “He’s been hiding under the clothes on this rack and poking my leg with a stick. The last time he tried it, I moved, and he missed. That’s when he started screaming.”

Woman: *Standing there with her arms crossed* “What did you do to him?”

Me: “Again, I just moved away on his last attack, and he was angry that I moved.”

She snatched him up and dried his tears.

Woman: “I will report you to the store if you bother my child again.”

I watched her walk away and hoped I would never be that way if I had a child.