Heh, these ‘innocent but could be misunderstood’ pet names sort of remind me of a mirror image of the old “sit, Lady!” urban myth.
[For those that haven’t heard it, the story goes that a pair of middle aged Midwestern women tourists were travelling to visit the Big Apple, having heard all sorts of horror stories about crime there. They get into an elevator. A large (usually) Black man gets in, with a big dog on a lead. The man growls “Sit, Lady!” - and the two women, terrified they are being mugged, immediately sit on the floor!
Of course, it turns out that the large Black man is a celebrity, variously identified, walking his dog named “Lady”. The moral of the story is to poke fun at unconscious racism]
Where there was this time that a young lady passing by the house got caught in a sudden downpour and her clothes were dripping wet. I let her come in and cover up in the bed while I had the clothes in the dryer.
It was pretty awkward explaining that to my wife when she came back unexpectedly from work. . .
Many years ago when I was still working in Florida our downstairs office suite got burgled over a weekend. When I came in on Monday they were extra cautious and kept the door to the suites locked. Typically they weren’t if there were people around. So of course I expect the door to give when I push it, it doesn’t, and I walk into it, spilling coffee all over it.
The end result is one of the cops processing the crime scene got to walk up to me carefully wiping down the door. :smack:
Mentioning the police reminds me of the mechanic at my last job. He was a Serbian immigrant and lived in the suburbs. A friend of his offered to sell him a sheep so he drove out to his friend’s farm, got the sheep, they trussed it and threw it in his trunk. He goes home, gets it out into the garage and slaughters it.
While he was cleaning it, the neighbors must have called the cops about screaming noises from next door. Police arrived to find him walking around his driveway, holding a large knife and covered in blood. Fortunately, nothing came from it besides a weird story. And a lesson about slaughtering livestock in the suburbs, I suppose.
No idea. This was back in the late 90’s and his kids (both worked at the same company as him) were telling us all the story that Monday. As I recall, the cops were just happy to not be dealing with a butcher knife wielding murderer and said “don’t do that” while he was complaining about how it was HIS house and back in Serbia, everyone killed sheep in their back yards, all the time, so why was he getting hassled.
Looking at my own town now, I saw an online article from 2012 saying the township was considering allowing residential backyard chicken coops but prohibited slaughtering on residential premises except for humane reasons. Reasoning cited is sanitary concerns. So I’m guessing sheep, pigs, cattle, etc are right out.
There are federal laws which say you can’t slaughter a conscious animal. I’m guessing most people wouldn’t have the means to sedate a sheep on hand in their home.
Kind of the opposite take on Soylent Juicy’s story, when I was about 16 my dad and I were at our local pizzeria waiting to be seated. He was affectionately rubbing my shoulder, as was his way, when the hostess asked us “table for two?” Just for fun I gave her this wide eyed look and said “I’ve never seen this man before in my life”. I never in a million years thought she would take me seriously but she got this panicked look on her face and seemed to be looking around for the manager or someone for help when my dad and I had to reassure her I was just kidding. Dad and I laughed about that one for years.
Years ago when my boyfriend and my relationship first started he gave my whiny ass orange cat the nickname “Ginger Minge” which I somehow conflated with “whinge” and over time got shortened to “The Minge”. At one point we went to an British themed restaurant to meet up with all his English friends for brunch. I’m the only American at a table of about fifteen and I don’t really know anyone and I’m getting kind of of bored when boyfriend, who was talking to another couple, turns to me and says " they have a cat just like John Wayne (my other cat, who is a Maine Coon and whose actual name is Cosmo). I’m all excited to finally have something to talk about and the woman starts telling me the story of how she found her cat in the parking lot where she works. I had found my orange cat in almost the same way so I scream, with glee, “THAT’S HOW I GOT MY MINGE!”. A silence fell over the table-possibly the whole room; it sure seemed like it- and all I hear is boyfriend say under his breath “Babe, noooooo”. It turns out minge is slang for dirty, nasty lady bits :eek:
My Mom tells the story about when I was around 3 and I threw a temper tantrum. Apparently she grabbed my arm and at the same time I threw myself backwards - she said my cry went from “bratty” to “in pain” so we went to the hospital and turns out I’d pulled a muscle so I had to have my arm in a sling for a bit. Later on we were on the city bus and the route looped around the hospital. Apparently I pointed and yelled “That’s where we went when Mommy broke my arm!!”
This one was years ago. My parents used to bring the day’s takings home from work every night, and count out the float for the next day; this was a very boring job they would try and push off on us kids whenever possible.
So, my bro, age about 12 or 13, was sitting in the middle of the floor, counting out piles of change, when there was a knock on the door. Mum answered it, to find two police officers there; apparently two young teenage boys had just stolen the till from our local grocers, then had run away up the alleyway past our house, and the police wanted to know if we’d seen them…
This reminded me of something. When I was about twelve, my threee year old cousin and I were walking along a path made up of mostly flat stones. He tripped and fell and scraped his knee just as I happened to touch his back to guide him along. As I’m helping him up, I see his mother watching the whole thing. Fortunately I was a good kid because later I overheard my aunt tell my mom that I’d accidentally knocked my cousin down.
I once had to ring up the purchases of a man buying five boxes of latex gloves and a little dental mirror. I will always wonder what he was going to look at…
Not me, but my sister and bro-in-law. They were driving through Nebraska and my brother-in-law likes to speed so the highway patrol pulled them over. For some reason–my sister thinks it was because the car had New York plates–the officer asked to search their car and they agreed.
They stood off to the side as the cop searched. My sister had earlier bought a piece of Native American pottery and put it in the trunk. When the officer looked in the trunk he picked this up.
My sister said “He found our pot!”
Luckily they were standing just far enough away that the cop didn’t hear them.
Wife once bought a crate of peacocks from the livestock auction to add to the menagerie. Hot,dry summer, the things promptly flew the coop and decided to roost in the trees along the creek. I was almost thankful because of the racket they’d make.
She took the kids and laundry to town, while I stayed behind working in the field across the gravel road.
I see and and hear a couple emergency vehicles tearing down the road in a cloud of dust. Thinking there must be a fire somewhere past me, I started to run back towards the house with shovel in hand to see if I could help out.
More than a little surprised when they billowed up my driveway, nearly running me over. While the sheriff was giving me the third degree, the deputy was investigating the digging I’d just left in the garden area. Wanted to know where the wife was and told him. He radioed other cops in town to check on the family and explained that a neighbor down the valley kept hearing a woman screaming, “Help, Help!”
We’re all wondering what in heck was going on, when the peacocks started calling.
