Totally Hammered

(I am the idiot customer in this story, with my habit of speaking before thinking. It’s 8:30 pm and I’m doing some maintenance to my motorcycle — affectionately known as “my girlfriend” as my husband jokes I’m cheating on him with her — and I can’t find my hammer ANYWHERE, and I need it to use an impact driver. A local DIY shop is still open so I decide to run out and buy a new one. I’m dressed in very baggy jeans, stompy boots, and a hoodie with the hood up as it’s a little chilly. Basically I look like a tiny thug. I’m also a bit grumpy at having to go out.)

Me: *marches up to checkout, swinging hammer and looking mildly annoyed* “Just this, please.”

Checkout Guy: *looks unnerved* “Late night DIY?” *nervous chuckle*

Me: *not thinking* “Nah, going home to beat the s*** out of my girlfriend.”

Checkout Guy: *blinks, looks terrified* “Erm…”

Me: *realises what I just said* “My motorbike! I call her my girlfriend! Not an actual girlfriend!”

(The checkout guy rang me up in stunned silence. I legged it out of the shop and hoped no one would call the police. My husband cracked up when I got home and told him about it… Oops!)