(I’ve just had my first baby, and she’s about 1 week old. My parents are visiting from out of town. It’s approximately 10:00 p.m.)

Baby: *cries*
Me: *changes and feeds her*
Dad: *looks at me disapprovingly, then whispers loudly to my mother* Why is this kid still up? It must be way past her bedtime!
Mum: … are you kidding?
Dad: What?
Mum: She’s an INFANT. She doesn’t HAVE a bedtime!
Dad: … oh.

(If this doesn’t perfectly describe my relationship with my mom, I don’t know what does.)

Me: “Bye mom, I’ll see you later tonight.”

Mom: “You have a cute butt.”

Me: “Thanks. There was s*** coming out of it five minutes ago.”

My mother loves fried okra, but she likes it cooked to the point most people consider it burnt.

Every time:

MOTHER: I want your fried okra, but I want it burnt.

WAIT STAFF: Okaaay.

Okra comes out normal. She sends it back with:

MOTHER: No, really, tell them I want it burnt.

WAIT STAFF: Oh, I thought you were joking.

The okra comes back out extra well done, but it’s still not done enough.

MOTHER: It’s still not done enough, but I don’t want to send it back again. I’ll take it home and cook it myself.

Much to my chagrin, and this happens basically every time. Sometimes the cook burns the okra trying to be a smartass and it actually gets done enough for her, but that’s few and far between.

My husband makes no stereotypical romantic gestures at all. (Think flowers, candlelit dinners, and that sort of thing.) As I am an extremely practical person, it doesn’t bother me.

At a gathering of friends, one seems to take offense that my husband has never brought me flowers. She doesn’t even seem to hear that it doesn’t bother me and that he shows love in many other ways. She goes on and on until I’m about ready to scream, “No, he doesn’t give me flowers, but he carried my s**t to the bathroom when I couldn’t walk before my back surgery!”

Luckily for our friendship, she spotted my husband and went to harangue him.

An older gentleman approaches my register with a gleam in his eye and hands me a tube of personal lubricant.

Customer: “Do you know what we use this for?”

My mind tumbles straight into the gutter and I freeze, unsure what to say.

Customer: “We make concrete floors and we need to make sure the concrete is dry enough before we can put the vinyl on top. We drill a hole into it, squirt in some of this, and stick in a sensor which tells us how much moisture is left in the concrete.”

I had to laugh. Well played, Customer!