Me, too. That’s phenomenal.
THE FUCKING SHIRT
Me: That’s a nice shirt, can I borrow it and make a copy sometime?
Boyfriend: Sure, anytime - it’s my favourite shirt.
Two weeks later:
Me: Hey, I got the sewing machine, look out that shirt for me.
Boyfriend: I’m wearing it now, come over.
This makes me think he knows which shirt I’m talking about, I go over, he’s not wearing the shirt, he’s not wearing anything. The phone rings, he rushes off to do something about the boat. I skulk around the apartment looking for the shirt. There’s a brown polo with the same logo, that he’s obviously been wearing but the one I wanted is a dress shirt. I find one of my shirts I’d left there. He calls - lets sleep over on the boat. Great I think, the shirt’s probably on the boat then.
Boyfriend: Did you find the shirt?
Me: My shirt? Yes.
Boyfriend: No mine - the brown polo, it was right there.
Me: IT’S NOT A FUCKING BROWN POLO, IT’S A FUCKING DRESS SHIRT, IT’S YOUR FAVOURITE SHIRT, IT’S NOT HERE ON THE BOAT, IT’S NOT AT THE APARTMENT, YOU’VE TAKEN IT TO THE FUCKING LAUNDRY, YOU BROUGHT ME HERE UNDER FALSE PRETENSES. YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHICH FUCKING SHIRT I’M ON ABOUT.
Boyfriend: :dubious: I thought you meant the brown polo.
Me: IT’S NOT A FUCKING BROWN POLO, IT’S A FUCKING DRESS SHIRT, IT’S YOUR FAVOURITE SHIRT, IT’S NOT HERE ON THE BOAT, IT’S NOT AT THE APARTMENT, YOU’VE TAKEN IT TO THE FUCKING LAUNDRY, YOU BROUGHT ME HERE UNDER FALSE PRETENSES. YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHICH FUCKING SHIRT I’M ON ABOUT.
Boyfriend: :dubious: I thought you meant the brown polo.
Rinse and repeat - I don’t know what the hell got into me about the bloody shirt. False pretenses? What was I on?
Two days later:
Him: You coming over?
Me: You better not be wearing that fucking shirt.
Oh. My. God. I’m going to have a stoke from keeping the laughter quiet.
Funniest thing ever.
Can I pile on here too and congratulate you for that magnificent display?
Oh, and a belated happy birthday too I see. 
Thank you!
Y’all are so kind about my meltdown - I try everything I possibly can not to get to that point. I used to joke that I’ve only ever really gotten that mad twice in my life. Once in junior high - and then that summer of '96.
I wasn’t so calm in junior high.
My wife and I were watching TV one time when I surfed to a channel showing figure skating. I paused it there for a minute.
Her: “I don’t want to watch figure skating.”
Me: “OK, I just want to see who’s skating in the competition.”
Her: “I DON’T WANT TO WATCH FIGURE SKATING!” And she threw a big of rice cakes at my head.
Then she cried. Then laughed. Then cried again.
Oh, and I almost had one last night, at work actually. Hockey related. Guy’s trying to claim that Montreal never won 6 Stanley Cups in the 70s. I, being the proud Canadiens fan, feel it’s my duty to correct the guy.
Him: They only won four in the '70s and all in a row.
Me: Bullshit. They won in 71, 73 and from 76-79
Him: No, St. Louis won in 71.
Me: (a little louder) Bullshit! St. Louis got swept in the Finals from 68-70
Him: As far as I know, St. Louis won in 71.
Me: (nearly screaming) Then you don’t know shit!
And I walked away.
Many of these are great but I think my favorite tale so far is feeding the steak stir fry to the dog.
I think you and melody are my heroes.
I honestly don’t remember. She did get a boyfriend, which helped. 
Also, the dog got older and lost her fascination with cords; she did ruin my vaccuum cleaner before that, but my sister swapped me hers (an identical model, actually).
I love my sister dearly and we actually did not have a bad time living together, but puppydom can be stressful and she was gone a lot.
You’re married to my mom? Does your government know? Why did I never get to see the wedding pics?
Not my meltdown, but my father’s. He was notorious for having an explosive temper. The least little thing would send him into a fury that would last for hours. Cursing, slamming doors, throwing things, etc. He didn’t care who else was around or what the consequences might be.
When I was 13 we moved into a new house. One day he decided to paint the garage, and he decided that I would help him (it definitely wasn’t MY idea). At one point he was up on the roof and I was on the ladder, painting the trim where the wall met the roof. For some reason he didn’t like the job I was doing, so he shoved me. I went flying, the ladder went flying, and an entire gallon of ***OIL-BASED ***paint went flying. I was covered with paint, as was the ladder, the lawn and the rose bushes.
Aside from the paint I only had some minor bruises. My father had no paint on him, ***but he was stuck on the roof of the garage with no ladder! ***I have no idea how he got down.
Actually, other than that one outburst, he was nearly an ideal roommate. He was considerate, nice, neat to the point that I’d come back to a clean room, and a made bed after being home for the weekend. I actually wish I was still in contact with him.
We were both in Electrical Engineering, and the test we returned from was incredibly hard, and we had been up for a couple of days studying for it. Both of us were struggling a bit with the material. I grabbed a beer from the fridge, he smashed his radio. Not the best choice, and certainly WAY out of character. Having just taken the same exam, I understood how he felt.