I’ve been shopping with my husband. My seven-month-old is tired and fussy, so he drops us off at a coffee shop so I can breastfeed her whilst he finishes our shop. The only seat left is next to their loud vintage coffee machine and it keeps startling her from her feed.

As I sit, I watch a couple of older ladies point and snicker at a transgender woman who is minding her own business. They’re loudly commenting on her hair, dress, and stature, clearly unhappy with her even existing.

A table with an upholstered chair comes available and I get up, ready to move, as I’m struggling to carry my toddler — still feeding — and bags. The ladies loudly tut at me and sigh about “young mothers and unfortunate degenerates.”

All of a sudden, a chair is thrown back and the woman they were commenting on takes hold of my bags and coffee and makes a path for me to the table. She settles us down without saying anything, smiles at my copious thanks, and goes back to her table without any fuss.

Suddenly, a loud comment is directed at me.

Woman: “She could have asked if you needed help. How rude!”

Me: “At least she helped! You just bloody stay there, you miserable, small-minded cow! Enjoy your coffee and leave us ‘unfortunate degenerates’ alone.”

They silently finished their coffee and left. When my husband came back, I explained and he also thanked the kind woman. She refused all offers of thanks but reaffirmed my belief in humanity. Wherever you are, thank you!

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I’m the proper idiot here. For reference, I have a Ph.D. but all the common sense of a potato.

My car seatbelt started sticking, so it usually takes a few attempts to pull it down to click in. I book my car in to get it fixed, and in the meantime, I stick some duct tape on the belt to stop it from retracting all the way. When I drop my car in to get it fixed, I think that the tape looks tatty, so I pull out my trusty pen knife to cut it off.

Yeah, it turns out that car seatbelts slice really easily. And they cost £130 to replace.

We took our eldest to a wedding when she is quite young. A friend of the bride is talking to us throughout the evening; she is a bit grating. She keeps making comments about the blankets we use, the way we hold our daughter, etc. Clearly, she has no idea what she is talking about; half of it is outdated old wives’ tales and the other half just don’t make sense.

We keep polite, and my wife starts to entertain our daughter with some phonics-styled reading books.

Guest: “I don’t believe in phonics.”

Me: “Oh, really?”

Guest: “Yeah, it doesn’t work.”

Wife: “Oh? We teach with it, and the children seem to really take to it well.”

Me: “Yeah, [Daughter] is learning really quickly using it.”

Guest: “It just doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, it seems wrong; that’s not how the letters work. If I were you, I would chuck that book right now.”

Me: “Do you have children yourself?”

Guest: “Well, no.”

Me: “Any experience in child development or teaching in early years?”

Guest: “Well, no, but—”

Me: “But nothing. We know how to raise a child and we know how to teach a child. You do not, so please, just no more.”

She sneers at me and stands to leave.

Guest: “I was only trying to help.”

There is nothing like parenting advice from a non-parent with an opinion.

I’m working in a very loud pub. I’m deaf in one ear but can lip-read sufficiently enough to have had three years of bartending with no problem. I have occasional issues with certain words, but I tend to parrot back orders to make sure.

Lady: “Two double gin and tonics, please.”

Me: “Two double G&Ts! Any particular gin, ma’am?”

Lady: “Just the house.”

I start pouring drinks.

Lady: “No, no Gordon’s!”

Me: *Shows her the bottle* “This is Tanqueray, ma’am, not Gordon’s.”

Both are similarly sized green bottles.

Lady: “Bombay?”

I am irritated because I’ve just wasted two doubles’ worth of Tanqueray because she didn’t bother specifying a gin.

Me: “Of course. I can do Bombay, instead.”

I start pouring Bombay.

Lady: “No, not Bombay! Gordon’s!”

Me: “We don’t sell Gordon’s, ma’am. I asked if there was a specific gin you wanted and you didn’t clarify so I poured the house. Is there anything else you would like?”

Lady: “I’m allergic to Bombay and Tanqueray! That’s why I want Gordon’s!”

I’m now worried, because allergen violations are a huge problem in my district.

Me: “Oh. May I ask what it is that you’re allergic to so I may advise a certain gin?”

Lady: “Juniper.” 

For anyone that doesn’t know, to legally be classified as a gin, it HAS to contain juniper. She settled for Hendricks and didn’t die.

I have two daughters; as such, we do have our share of pink decorations and toys at home. 

As a man, a house full of unicorns, fairies, and glitter wouldn’t be my first choice, but it’s their home, too, and we keep it tidy-ish, so it is perfectly fine.

My brother-in-law doesn’t have kids, and despite all obvious visual, physical, and historic clues, he thinks of himself as some manly bloke’s bloke.

Brother-In-Law: *Smirking* “Nice unicorn. Is this yours?”

Me: “No. No, it’s not.”

Brother-In-Law: “I wouldn’t have all this stuff in my house, you know.”

Me: “You wouldn’t let your kids have toys?”

Brother-In-Law: “Well, I guess they could keep it out of the way, so I didn’t have to see it.”

Me: “We try not to lock the kids away all day when they are playing.”

Brother-In-Law: “I’m not saying that; I’m just saying that I wouldn’t have it in my part of the house.”

Me: “We don’t have parts of the house; we live in one house. I mean, why wouldn’t we want them with us? I just don’t—”

My wife interrupted me as she could see I was getting irritated. He would often give us his opinion or advice about parenting, despite not being asked or having any clue about children.

He eventually had children of his own, and wouldn’t you know it? His house looks like a toy shop.