What's the greatest set-up you've ever done for someone to get a dig in at you?

Here’s mine for example. On a couple of knuckles of each hand I have large areas that tend to get very calloused. I don’t do anything that I know of that abrades the knuckles or anything, so one day I asked Mrs. Evil Captor, who knows more about skin than I do, “Wonder why I keep getting these huge calluses on my knuckles?”

“Maybe if you stopped dragging them …” she responded.

Oh, she’s evil.

nothing to add except… ROFL

ME: My zipper keeps catching me between the nuts… jeez…

GF: Must be why you get those throbbing headaches

Me, to a friend: No, my hair color is natural.
My husband, in an aside: Like anyone would PAY to look like that…

Younger brother: “What does ‘je ne sais quoi’ mean?”
Me: “I don’t know.”
Younger brother: “Geez, didn’t you take French for a semester?”

Younger brother: “Hey, what planet’s in that picture?”
Friend: “Oh, that’s Uranus.”
Younger brother: “If you don’t know, just say so. There’s no need to be vulgar.”

Yes, my younger brother has a Recommended Daily Allowance of setups.

Not me, but…

A few months after September 11, I was teaching my friend Briana how to knit. She was going to Mexico in a few days, and she wondered aloud if she could take her needles on the plane. (And I admit that I stole this line, from The New Yorker, I believe) I said, “No, they’re afraid you’ll knit an Afghan.”

And when I got home from Briana’s house, I was telling my mom about Briana’s trip to Mexico, and my mom wondered if Briana could knit on the airplane–so I got to say it again! I was absolutely thrilled.

I was dressed up for graduation last week, and with many layers of dress clothes under the gown, and at least three buttons holding my pants together, I decided to use the fly when going to relieve myself. Except that, going at it blind, I couldn’t manage to find the fly on my underwear.

While struggling with this, I began to lament aloud:

“…Can never find this stupid little miniscule…”

And then I got it.

And then I realized that my roommate was in the bathroom with me (outside of the toilet stall).

I heard him inhale in preparation.

“FLY!” I said. “The end of that sentence was ‘fly’!”

There are a fair number of Russian bar hostesses/strippers/prostitutes working near here, and aside from me they’re the only white women you’re likely to see in the neighborhood. One day, on my way back to the office after my lunch break, a creepy looking old man on the street leered at me and said something that I think may have been “How much?”

Somewhat agitated, I recounted the anecdote to my deskmate once back at the office. I ended by saying, “Do people look at me and think I’m a Russian hooker?”

He said, “No way, you don’t look Russian at all.”

I nearly fell over. I wasn’t actually angry because I could tell he didn’t mean it “that way”, and as soon as I stopped laughing I explained that it wasn’t the Russian resemblance that I wanted to hear denied!