A coworker and I are chatting, and the topic of cakes comes up. We both are talking about what cakes we each like for our birthdays when…

Me: “I like ice cream cake. It’s especially refreshing since my birthday is in the summer.”

Coworker: “Eww, I don’t like ice cream cake.”

Me: “Oh, that’s fair. But how come you don’t, though?”

Coworker: “Well, a friend brought me an ice cream cake for my birthday, and there was still some left over. So I threw it in the fridge, and it all melted!”

The only thing I can do is look at her with actual confusion. However, right when she said this, a colleague of ours was walking by when she said why she hates ice cream cakes.

Colleague: “Wait, so you hate ice cream cakes because yours melted in the fridge?”

Coworker: “Yeah! I cannot believe it melted like that!”

Colleague: “So you threw ice cream in the fridge, and you’re surprised it melted?”

Coworker: “Well, it’s a cake! Where else was I supposed to put it?”

A customer came, so I left Coworker and Colleague to settle it among themselves. By the time I finished with the customer, Colleague left Coworker more confused as to why ice cream cakes need to go in the freezer.

All the students were quietly working on a test when the teacher called out to me:

Teacher: “[My Name], you look very pale. Are you okay?”

I’ve always had an ivory complexion, but perhaps the light was hitting me in such a way that I seemed extra pale.

Everyone turned to look at me, which caused me to blush bright red.

Teacher: “I suppose that’s better.”

I’m doing some food shopping with my son. Note that I have been single since I divorced his mom five years ago, because I’ve been focused on raising him.

While pushing the cart around, I spot a woman I used to work with and say hello to her. We chat briefly, and she gives my son a smile and says hello to him too, explaining that when he asks, we used to work together. After we part ways, my son waits until she’s out of earshot.

Son: “She seems nice.”

Me: “Yes, she’s very sweet.”

Son: “She’s pretty, too.”

Me: *Seeing where this is going.* “She’s married. And a lesbian.”

Son: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes. I’ve met her wife.”

Son: “Some people like both, you know.”

Me: “[Son], I know you’re just looking out for me, but I don’t think I’ll ever be so lonely that I need a ten-year-old wingman to help me flirt with my gay, married ex-coworker at a [Warehouse Store], okay?”

I’m the one who submitted this story. Unfortunately, my then partner and I broke up a year ago due to us realizing our goals weren’t aligning, but I do have another story about my ex’s mother.

The summer before we broke up, we decided to go on a vacation together to Nova Scotia. After two weeks, we returned, and to my surprise, his mother was hanging out in our apartment.

Mother: “Oh, hi! How was your trip?”

My then-boyfriend immediately began catching up with her, but I noticed she was using our apartment as her storage while we were gone. My ex is very sensitive when it comes to stuff about his family, so I don’t want to rock the boat, but imagine my fury when I saw my side of the bed had her mending strewn all over it.

Me: “Um… what’s on my bed?”

Mother: “Well, I ran out of space in my house, and since you were gone, I decided to house sit.”

Boyfriend: “Thanks, mom!”

Mother: “I’ll return the key in a week.”

I was ready to explode, but my then-boyfriend shot me a look to drop it as his mother walked out. He explained that he gave her the spare key to water our plants.

The next week was absolute Hell. She would come and go from our apartment as she pleased, including midnight, ruining many a date and intimate moment between us. The stuff she had dropped off seemed to be multiplying, and she even began using our parking space to store her barely functioning car. 

A week passed, and I had just about had it. When my then-boyfriend was at work, I marched to her house and banged on the door.

Mother: “Oh! [My Name]. What can I do for you?”

Me: “I’d like the key back, please.”

Mother: “But I’m not done with my mending, polishing, or knitting.”

Me: “You have a house of your own. The apartment is not your vacation home. I want the key back and all your stuff out!”

It is important to note that she is a hoarder. She looked ready to close the door, but I continued.

Me: “If your stuff isn’t removed and replaced with the key in three days’ time, I will pack everything in a box, leave it at the side of the road, and whatever happens, happens.”

She angrily handed the key over, and the next day, around six boxes of her stuff were taken back. My then-boyfriend was furious at me, and while it wasn’t a contributing factor in our breakup, it was certainly where things began to crack.

Now he has a new girlfriend, and from what I heard, his mother is driving her insane.

I’m a web designer. A would-be client contacts me and asks if I’d be willing to “clean up” a website that he had another designer do, “which has since stopped working”.

I go to the URL he gives me and am greeted with a site that looks like it has been sliced EXACTLY in half. One half is a workable site. The other half is giant, colourful text reading “PAY HALF THE BILL, GET HALF THE PRODUCT”.

I refused the job.