You two sound like a perfect match!
Thanks for sharing.
And… ooom!
HAH.
I’ve accidentally walked into the ladies room before. Never one of the big ones, but rather like a single occupancy bathroom–Never ocupied though.
One time I felt a HORRIBLE case of diarhea coming on at a restaurant and ran into the men’s room and realized the door didn’t lock and this would not be the kind of visit where I wanted to risk someone coming in.. so I walked out and saw that the ladies room door was open and went inside. It had a working lock and I took care of business. I was preparing my “shocked” face for when I opened the door and found a woman waiting… but luckily no one was outside the door when I was finished. Or they heard the terrible sounds coming from inside and let it be.
Not my personal experience but a funny family story.
My mother’s cousins Cy and Lou were identical twins. After graduating college they both started working in different fields in the same city.
Lou had some free time one afternoon and decided to pop by Cy’s office. He shared the elevator up with some pretty college students and, being only a year or so older than them, flirted a bit. Lou got to Cy’s floor and strolled to the office while the girls headed where ever they were going.
This would have been the end of it if Cy had worked anywhere but a university. The next day he got called in by a supervisor and lectured on his behavior with the students he was supposed to be teaching.
It took dragging Lou back down to the office for the supervisor to believe it really was Cy’s identical (evil?) twin who had been misbehaving.
I don’t know how “Sit-Com-Y” this would be, considering the ‘activities’ that were involved. 
During the end of my senior year in high school, I had managed to finally acquire a real vehicle! I had a Honda CB 125 up till that point, which is not very conducive to ‘dating’. (At least not for ‘parking’, if you know what I mean.;)) After much shade tree mechanic work I finally got the old thing running and road worthy. (The engine was froze up from sitting too long in the West Texas desert.:eek: But that’s another story.)
Anyway, my Papaw had a ‘horse lot’ over on the North side, we had added a storage shed on to the end of the stalls to store excess construction materials, so my Dad and I had keys to the gate.
I had the brilliant (or so it seemed, when I first thought of it) idea, that this would be THE PERFECT place to go ‘parking’ and not have to worry about the cops or anyone else disturbing our <ahem> ‘activities’. 
We were parked in a corner of the pasture since it was a balmy evening and the stars were out and things were going exceptionally well! (meaning, we were going at it like there wasn’t no tomorrow!)
The bench seat in that old truck was getting a serious workout!
Just about the time that things had reached a crescendo, so to speak, Papaw’s big Tennessee Walker stallion had quietly eased over to the side of the truck that our heads happened to be on, stuck his head about halfway in the open window and let out that snuffle/snort that horses do,*** right. over. our. heads.***
Talk about coitus interuptus! :eek:
She screamed and damn near pitched me off into the floor. The horse whinnied and reared up, hitting his head on the door frame and galloped off, bucking and pitching.
Needless to say, ‘play time’ was officially OVER, for the night! :mad:
If you get a girl to wrap her arms and legs around you, and sit with you atop a giant gas-powered vibrator on wheels, and all you can think is “I’d rather have a truck,” you’ve missed the point. 
My sitcom moment: when I was fourteen years old*, I took some classes at the local junior college. The campus was adjacent to my high school, so I walked over and sat down in what I thought was CISC 310 - Introduction to Computer Information Science. The whiteboard was blank, nobody had their textbooks out, and all the other students were giving me dirty looks for reasons I couldn’t fathom. Eventually the professor showed up, books were retrieved and she started to write on the board.
It was then that I-- shy, awkward, fourteen-year-old I-- realized that this was not CISC 310. This was PSYC 356 - Human Sexuality.
If I had been the other standard type of sitcom kid, I would have rejoiced at my good luck and found an excuse to stay right where I was. Instead I muttered something about being in the wrong classroom and got the hell out of there. This is the first time I’ve told anyone.
*You know that obnoxiously precocious kid who shows up at least once in every sitcom? The one who constantly says and does things that no real child ever would, and gives real nerds a bad name? That was me, except I never wore glasses and none of the robots I built ever accidentally acquired sentience.
It’s sit-com funny 'cause the kid ended up at someone’s house who took care of her. But what kind of grandmother just dumps off a 4-year-old at a stranger’s house? :eek::eek::eek:
Yeah, curiosity is killing me!!
That’s not a sitcom moment! A sitcom moment would’ve had you whacking him in the junk!:smack:
Being away from your city for a concert and the friend which you are supposed to stay in hotel room leaves early because he is not feeling to well. When concert and parties are over I get a taxi and go to hotel, phone my friend who does not answer, he must be fast asleep, I ask reception for room number where we are staying and he says my name is not on the list and that they cannot give me a room number for where my friend is for security reasons. Instead of sleeping on a park bench, bus stop or some other strange spot (Wouldn’t be the first time) I decided to get myself a room and meet my friend in the morning.
Fast forward to the morning when I am woken up by a phone call, I tell my friend my room number and he says he will come and get me. Moments later I get another call just as I am getting out of the shower, its my friend that says he is outside my room and there is no answer, I reply I have not heard the door and go and open it. “Where are you?” I ask.
“I am standing outside room ???” My friend replies.
“No you are not, I have just opened the door and there is no one outside.”
After standing outside my room with my towel wraped around me, we both came to realise what had happended. Turns out taxi had droped me in the wrong hotel, how were we ment to know there are three hotels with same name in Dublin?
Oh, I wasn’t missing the point, son. At that age, I wanted to BE ‘the vibrator’ and one of the few places that would work for that, was in a vehicle. (I wasn’t old enough to rent a hotel room.:() And besides…
It was a HONDA… CB 125… (125cc engine) which doesn’t quite qualify, as a “giant gas-powered vibrator on wheels”. :rolleyes:
The Harley Davidson Road King that I presently own, is ***very much ***a “giant gas-powered vibrator on wheels”! (It’s also a pretty good p#$$y “magnet”!;))
Which is fine and dandy for getting 'em ‘in the mood’, but it doesn’t work very well for “amorous exercises”, if you catch my drift. 
A pick up truck with a bench seat worked great for the ‘activity’ I was referring to, for a few different reasons, the first of which was, there was plenty of room to move around in. 
RoeCocoa
Probably not for lack of trying though, huh? 
Did any of them deliberately acquire sentience?
There’s a reason why juvenile records are sealed.
JBDivmstr: Don’t call me “son.”
I meant no offense, and offer my apology. 
Not much happens in my life that’s sit-com-y anymore, but I do hear a laff-track.
At my Grand dads funeral one of the wreaths offering condolences was from “Mary Lee Hoist #5.” My mom and aunt Judy were trying desperately to figure out who Mary Lee Hoist was. Grandad out around A LOT as a young and middle-aged man. Sometimes to the point of losing his job in the mines due to it being with a coworkers wife.
So mom and Judy were discreetly looking everyone over to determine which one was Mary Lee Hoist and what relationship she had had with their dad. “Who’s that?” “That’s Linnie-Belle. Can’t be her.” “What about her?” “No, that’s Booger Ray’s cousin, Eunice.”
They were having no luck and asked their little brother about it. “Ronnie. Who’s Mary Lee Hoist?”
“Who?”
“Mary Lee Hoist. She sent a wreath.” When they showed him the wreath he started laughing at them.
“Judy, where do I work?”
“At the mines.”
“Which mines?”
“The Mary Lee Mines.”
“And what do I do there?”
“You work the dragline.”
“Yeah, the HOIST. Hoist #5.” Mom and Judy finally realized they’s been looking for the crew of hoist #5 from the Mary Lee Coal mines. To this day, I still await the chance to use the name Mary Lee Hoist as a punchline.
OK, so maybe it was more of a Three Stooges moment.
My sister recently sent her dog to live on a farm (they had a puppy who grew up to be an unusual large, powerful, and energetic dog for his breed, and they simply didn’t have the space he needed). Her daughter is three.
There’s no way my niece won’t believe that Jack got euphemismed when she grows up.
My parents gave our ~11 year old dog to a farm. I didn’t actually see it, but it happened while I was going to college, after having survived the trauma of finding (at a much younger age) two pets separately dead. Plus had another dog put to sleep, and later had another cat put to sleep. Said dog was relocated to a farm because he was still rambunctious, the teenage boys were no longer in the house to deal with him, dad got ill, and he was starting to get resistive to being controlled with a leash.
(I know now, obedience training at a young age would have been better for all around. Didn’t know that then.)
There’s no way they had him put to sleep and lied about it. There’s no point, and there’s enough history of the truth before and after that there wasn’t anything to shield us from.
After reading all these, I forgot what I was going to post.
I suppose this one would work on a sitcom:
Before my wife and I were married, we lived together for a bit; I moved into her duplex and ditched my old apartment. We developed a bit of a nightly routine: we’d watch the evening news on NBC, and then Wheel of Fortune would come on. I wasn’t a fan, but she never changed the channel, so I assumed it was what she wanted to watch, and I was okay with that. Let some things slide, to ensure domestic tranquility.
So time goes by, we get married, we build a house. By this time, we’ve had this routine for about three years. And then one night, she makes a remark: “Well, guess I’d better put it on your favorite show now.”
I’m confused. “What?”
“Your favorite show, Wheel of Fortune.”
“That’s not my favorite show.”
“But you watch it every night.”
“Yeah, because you watch it every night.”
“Me? I don’t even like Wheel of Fortune! I just watch it because you do!”
“I don’t like it either!”
And that was how we found out that we’d both been watching Wheel of Fortune for three years, because each of us thought that the other one wanted to, even though neither one of us actually liked the show. Communication: it’s what makes a good marriage. heh.
That’s adorably sweet.