(I’m reading the Not Always Working telemarketer wars. There are so many awesome responses! Unfortunately, all I get are the robots, so no awesomeness for me.)
Me: *to my partner* “I wish that real human beings called meeeeeee!”
Me: “That… sounds really sad without the context.”
Me: *starts explaining*
(I have recently bought myself a Claddagh ring — an Irish design ring that represents love, loyalty, and friendship, worn on the ring finger and which, when worn with the heart pointing inward towards oneself, signifies that the wearer’s heart is taken. Around about the same time I pass my first anniversary with my boyfriend. The two things are not actually related, but the latter probably contributed to how many times I had the following conversation with friends and acquaintances in the following weeks.)
Friend: “Oh! Congratulations on your engagement!”
Me: “Huh? Oh, no, it’s not an engagement ring… It’s just a ring you wear on that finger.”
Friend: “So, it’s a promise ring?”
Me: “No, you can wear one even if you’re single, but wearing it up this way.” *points to design* “With the heart pointing inward signifies that you’re in a relationship.”
Friend: *blank stare*
Me: *sigh* “You know what? Close enough. Yes. It’s a promise ring.”
(Considering that Celtic, Irish, and Scottish jewellery designs are common in the UK and I see a lot of people wearing these rings, I was kind of surprised at how few people actually knew what they were…)
(It’s 2001. My husband and I are visiting the USA from Finland for a semester abroad. Darude’s “Sandstorm” has already been playing over and over on the radio in Finland for the last year, and we’re both getting really sick of it. Apparently it follows us across the ocean, because one night we go out to a club, and guess what the DJ plays. We have the following conversation the next morning:)
Husband: “Oh, wow, I was so drunk last night.”
Me: “I know. You were dancing to ‘Sandstorm’. Vigorously.”
(It is the day before Valentine’s Day, and about a month after we’ve adopted a puppy. My wife has realized how far behind in schoolwork (a tough master’s degree program) she is.)
Wife: “I think I need to not come home tomorrow. I’ll just go straight to studying after work.”
Me: “You’re not coming home on Valentine’s Day?”
Wife: “Yes. I’ll miss my puppy.”
Me: “…AND YOUR HUSBAND?!”
Wife: “Oh… well… yeah.”
I am in seventh grade, and a new boy has started at our school. He is just adorable, with silky, blond hair and big blue eyes.
Of course I, like all the other girls, fall in love.
One day, while classes are in session, this boy and I both happen to have a hall pass to run some errand or other. I am on the third floor, headed down, he on the second, headed up.
So I think… I’ll make an impression; we can chat for a bit. I whip off my glasses (which I had just started wearing over the summer), and sashay down to meet my love.
And miss a step.
And fall down the rest of the stairs, ending right at his feet. Horrified, he asks if I am okay, and I CAN NOT SPEAK. I am dying of embarrassment.
After he figured out I was okay, we parted, but I literally did not, could not, speak to him for six months.