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    Powdered With Sleep-Talking

    | OR, USA | Engaged

    (My fiancée has a tendency to get a little loopy when he’s sleepy. He’s been exhausted all day, and finally collapses into bed. I’m applying a little baby powder to myself, and decide to leave a handprint on the sheets over his rump.)

    Fiancée: *very sleepily* “Did… did you just fwoof baby powder onto my rear?

    Me: “Yep. Your butt seemed to need a baby powder hand print.”

    Fiancée: “But… you kinda failed, because it’ll just come off.”

    Me: “Yeah, and it doesn’t show well because our sheets are light colored. If they’d been dark blue or something, it’d look real nice.”

    Fiancée: “Yeah… but then we’d have died ‘cause of our color scheme.”

    Me: “…’then we’d have died ‘cause of our color scheme’? What the h*** does that mean?”

    Fiancée: “Don’t question me! Accept my logic…” *snore*

    Unnamed And Shamed

    | Sacramento, CA, USA | Flirting/How We Met

    (I’m taking public transit and listening to my MP3 and reading, when the guy in the aisle across from me randomly reaches over and smacks the edge of my seat with his hand. I look up and he’s gesturing like he’s trying to write something, so I pause my music.)

    Me: “What?”

    Guy: “I want your phone number.”

    Me: *stunned* “What?”

    Guy: “Well, you’re cute, and you seem nice, and—”

    Me: *cutting him off* “I’m sorry, I don’t give out my phone number to men who don’t ask me my name first.”

    (Both he and another guy tried asking me my name but I turned my music back on and ignored them until I reached my stop.)

    Disorder Out Of Order

    | Baltimore, MD, USA | Marriage & Partners

    (It’s very cold outside, so my husband decides he wants to order delivery from one of the Indian restaurants in our area. Their food is very good, but extremely spicy, even by Indian cuisine standards. I usually place the orders for delivery and take care of the tipping only because my husband is a man-child.)

    Husband: “Come ooooon…”

    Me: “Give me one second; I need to send an email.”

    Husband: “FINE. I will order it myself!”

    Me: “I said ONE SECOND. I will order it.”

    Husband: “Nope! You’re too slow! I’m ordering.”

    Me: “Don’t forget—”

    Husband: *jokingly* “GET OFF MY BACK, WOMAN!”

    Me: “FINE!”

    (Later, the food comes and he almost forgets to tip the delivery guy, which I quickly correct lest we be blacklisted.)

    Me: “Uh… honey… You didn’t order any naan? Or… rice? Or… What the h*** is this?”

    (I hold up a container.)

    Husband: “I dunno, it had a weird name, I figured I would try it.”

    Me: “Uh… your container says ‘extra hot’… Did they make a mistake?”

    Husband: “No, I wanted it extra hot! I felt like something spicy and you never let me get spicy food.”

    Me: *completely offended* “You talk like I’m your mother!”

    Husband: “YOU SURE ACT LIKE IT SOMETIMES!”

    Me: “FINE. Eat your d*** extra hot food without any rice or bread to take the burn down.”

    (He won’t admit while eating that the food is way too spicy for him, but very soon after eating:)

    Husband: “AAAAHHH! MY FACE IS MELTING! IT HUUUUURTS!”

    Me: “I bet it does.”

    (He tries drinking cold water and it gets worse. He tries other things with equally bad effects.)

    Husband: *groaning* “WHY DID YOU LET ME ORDER?!”

    Me: “You said I was too slow and you screwed up the order. Why is that?!”

    Husband: “BUT I’M DUMB! YOU CAN’T LET ME DO THINGS!” *pained groaning*

    Me: “Go eat some cheese and you’ll feel better.”

    Husband: “It’s like I ate a fire and it’s trying to come out!” *pained groaning* “Maybe you should place the orders from now on.”

    I Think I’m Turning Japanese

    | NY, USA | Dating

    (I am texting my boyfriend, who is coming home from work.)

    Me: “Are you still at work?”

    Boyfriend: “No, I’m driving and I’m on empty.”

    Me: “Ah.”

    Boyfriend: “Tatsunoko”

    Me: *confused, then realizing* “You’re at the Sunoco?”

    Boyfriend: “Yeah, but I spoke into the microphone and that’s what it wrote.”

    Me: “Your phone thinks it’s Japanese.”

    (He later told me the other people at the pump looked at him strangely for bursting out in laughter.)

    Tougher Than A Boxer, Pound For Pound

    | NH, USA | Dating

    (My boyfriend is really into boxing, and we frequently talk sports together. He tends to ramble about them at length after we turn off the lights for bed, before he starts dozing off. In this incident, we’re talking about the fact that Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao have never had their big fight.)

    Me: “I really thought it was going to happen that time.”

    Boyfriend: “Yeah, but if it was going to it would have been at least five years ago.”

    Me: “If only Mayweather wasn’t such a chicken.”

    Boyfriend: *sleepily* “Mayweather is a big, giant, wet p***y. He’s all talk.”

    Me: “Babe, the problem with that analogy is that a big, giant, wet p***y isn’t afraid to take a pounding.”

    Boyfriend: “This is why I love you.”


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