From Redditor u/Kangar:
I went to my girlfriend's parents house for dinner for the first time. Everything was going pretty good until I grabbed a bottle of salad dressing off the table and shook it up. The lid was loose, and it flew off as I was shaking the bottle. Salad dressing spewed all over the f*cking dining room. It was everywhere. On the wall, on her Mom's sweater, on the chandelier, on her Dad's hair-everywhere. Everybody sat there in stunned silence, and I reacted (clearly in shock) by saying: "Unbelievable. Not even a drop on my f*cking salad."Is this a plot twist?
Husband Takes Way Too Many Edibles Before Meeting Wife's Parents
From Redditor u/drmcsinister:
Recently, I traveled to Denver, Colorado with my wife and my wife's parents. As a resident of a non-legalized state -- and as someone who is too much of a [scaredy-cat] to regularly buy [illicit-substances] -- the thing I was looking forward to most was the chance to buy fancy legal weed. What could possibly go wrong?
So the first thing I do upon arriving (and after successfully ditching the in-laws) is drag my wife to a nearby dispensary for a shopping spree. And oh my god, it was just like in my dreams. Tons of different options in neat little sample jars and a team of helpful stoners walking me through the various strains:
"Are you looking for a mellow body high? Or do you want something that gives you a bit more pep and energy? Or are you just hoping for something light to take the stress off?"
"Yes, yes and yes!" I reply eagerly, like a fat kid in a candy store, and request an eighth-ounce of about 7 different options. In hindsight, if I learned anything from this experience, it is that my math and science teachers never taught me basic information, like "what is an ounce?" or "how much weed can a person consume in a single weekend?" Sure, I can tell you when two speeding trains leaving separate stations will collide or recite Avogadro's Number, but it turns out that none of that information is particularly relevant to getting high in a responsible and efficient manner.
And it was at this dispensary that I also learned that you can't actually smoke in public places (including the hotel that my wife and I were staying at). As a result, before leaving, I begged my wife to buy some edibles that I could munch on until we found a place to properly get lit. After expressing shock as to the absurd volume of [illicit substances] that we were buying (unlike me, she is the product of private school and understands the Imperial measurement system) she relents, and we walk out of the store with what felt like a dump truck of weed plus a small package of seemingly-innocuous gingersnap cookies.
When we finally get back to the hotel room, I tear those bad boys open... only to find about a dozen tiny cookies roughly the size of a quarter. What the f*ck, Denver? Seeing the skepticism (and hunger) in my eyes, my wife warns me that I should go easy and look at the back of the package first before trying one.
"Dose size: 1/2 cookie," I read silently as I start taking micro-bites from the edges, like a giant chinchilla gnawing on a sunflower seed. But what kind of a savage only eats half a cookie? So a second later, I covertly pop the remainder into my mouth.
And then I quickly stuff another two cookies in my mouth for good measure the moment my wife turns her back. We may not have legal weed back home, but I routinely devour an entire package of Milanos in one sitting without breaking a sweat. Your move, tiny gingersnaps.
About 30 minutes later we are in the backseat of her parents' rental car on the way to dinner. And that's when things start to go tits-up. My stomach growls. Loudly and angrily. My wife looks at me with inquisitive eyes that seem to say "Diarrhea?" But I merely clutch my tummy and mumble something about altitude sickness.
"You didn't eat a whole cookie, did you?" she asks, 10% in genuine concern and 90% in seething irritation.
"Of course not." I respond, avoiding eye contact for the remainder of the car ride.
A few minutes later we are climbing out of her parents' rental car and heading into some trendy farm-to-table restaurant. I don't remember how I made it to my seat, and I don't remember even looking at the menu, but I do remember the concerned look on the waiter's face as he asked me if I was doing alright.
"Keep it together, man," I say to myself. But my wife's sudden groan suggests that I may have also said that to the waiter. Things are going downhill fast.
The waiter nods sympathetically, takes our orders, and then heads to the next table.
The moment he walks away, my wife is staring daggers at me. I start to worry that the jig is up.
"You are sweating... from your entire face," she says with both pity and disgust. Not quite knowing what to do, I reach for my napkin and proceed to blot my cheeks, nose, neck, chin and forehead.
At this point, my wife's mom looks over at me with some concern. "Are you alright?" she asks kindly.
"Yeah, the food's just a bit spicy," I reply, far too quick to realize that we had literally just ordered and that there is nothing on the table except for a basket of dinner rolls.
My wife kicks me under the table to grab my attention. "Bathroom. Now." she hisses. "Get it together." I reluctantly get up from the table and head for the toilet. After splashing several handfuls of water on my face, I approach a urinal and start to pee.
Now, one of the more disconcerting effects of those tiny gingersnap monsters is the feeling that time has become untethered from reality. As I am peeing, I start to get the very unsettling feeling that I have been taking a pi*s for the better part of an hour and that my wife must be pacing around the restaurant worried about me.
But deep down I know that is absurd: I've been peeing all my life, sometimes multiple times a day. I've probably taken more than 50,000 leaks, and it usually only takes about a minute at most. So given that my typical pee is no more than 60 seconds -- and given that it feels like I am about half way done -- that means that I've probably only been standing here about 30 seconds, right?
But the guy at the urinal next to me doesn't respond, and instead starts shuffling away from me mid-stream, like a startled penguin. I try, albeit unsuccessfully, to break eye-contact.
After finally finishing, I again splash some water on my face and return to my seat, making sure to apologize to the table "for being gone such a long time" just in case my math was off.
Next, I try briefly to engage in small talk with my wife's father, but I am far too high to understand what either of us are saying. Not wanting to start laughing uncontrollably at the wrong moment -- or, really, at any moment -- I figure the safest idea is to nod my head periodically and drink a ton of water. Nothing cures mental fatigue like water, right? To my wife's horror, I stand up, grab my water glass and thrust it out to the waiter, who unfortunately is on the opposite side of the restaurant. But he turns out to be really cool and, after making his way over to our table, tells me that he'll do his best to keep me stocked with ice water for the rest of the meal. He also helpfully suggests that if the dinner rolls aren't too spicy for me, I should probably eat one or two so that I'm not sitting there on an empty stomach.
However, after going through all of the bread on the table and three glasses of water, I start to get worried that I need actual food to offset the growing paranoia from those tiny gingersnap devils. "Do you think I should flag down the waiter again and ask what's taking so long?" I suggest helpfully to my wife.
"What?! We literally just ordered three f*cking minutes ago."
And at that exchange, my wife loses her cool. "HOW MANY COOKIES DID YOU EAT?!" she demands.
"Whoa, easy there, Torquemada," I respond, somewhat horrified at her outburst. "I had a few cookies, but keep it down. I don't want your parents to know how f*cked up I am right now."
"REALLY?! THEY ARE SITTING TWO FEET AWAY FROM YOU. THEY KNOW."
I look up and for the first time notice both of my in-laws just staring at me... for what literally felt like an eternity.Is this a plot twist?
Dinner At Boss' House - Husband Tosses Steak Out Of Window... The Window Was Not Open.
From Redditor u/mrs_defenestrator:
I had just gotten a brand new job that I was really excited about. So I was delighted when my boss - who I had been trying to establish a rapport with - invited me and my husband over to her home for dinner.
Well, mostly delighted. My husband is... well... he's the sweetest, but he has a history of doing really dumb sh*t. Because of this, I was worried about him coming along.
By the time the day of the dinner arrived, I had become so anxious about it that I actually floated the idea by my boss that I wasn't sure if he would be able to make it. She was clearly taken aback and responded "Oh no! I really hope he can, I have a dinner for 3 all ready to go." Upon seeing her dismay, I assured her that I was sure he would find a way to be there.
Well, we made it over to her apartment on time and things actually started out really, really well. It was actually just the 3 of us, which surprised me somewhat but made me a little less concerned about my husband - as crowds really tend to bring out his unpredictability.
I had just started to finally relax and was a couple bites into a deliciously cooked steak when things took a horrible... horrible turn.
My boss had just stepped into the kitchen to check on dessert when I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye. It was one of those things where you know something strange his happening in your peripheral, but you're not sure what... you have to look over and focus your gaze to really comprehend it.
I look over at my husband and see him holding his steak in his hand, hovering it just an inch or two above his plate. Before I had a chance to fully comprehend what I was seeing and verbalize something that might have saved all of us from the coming horror.... he threw his steak - baseball style - across the room straight into the dining room window. It hit the window, making a loud noise, and slowly slid down.
Now my husband does dumb sh*t, I already told you that. But he's not a crazy person. Usually when he does dumb sh*t I at least understand what he's thinking. There' usually some semblance of rhyme or reason to the dumb sh*t.
In this case I was just dumbfounded. I couldn't believe my eyes. I couldn't wrap my head around what was going on. I stared at him with what must have been the most confused look, and watched as he stared back at me, an expression of utter horror painted across his face.
I couldn't make any sense of what was happening, but I also didn't have time to try. I heard the foot steps of my boss, coming to see what the sound was.
It suddenly sunk in that it didn't matter why he did what he did. He did it, and we were all about to come face to face with a very awkward situation.
I could feel the anger flush through my face. For a brief moment I contemplated trying to help my husband get out of this. But No. This was his dumb-sh*t-bed and he could lie in it. Not like there was any possible recovery anyway.
My boss walks in and sees the steak lying on the window sill. There's the f*cking longest most awkward pause where we all just sit there frozen. My boss and I are staring at my husband, forcing the ball into his court, as the cringe just hangs in the air like an ocean fog.
He finally manages to mutter some incoherent garbage about being a clutz and even tries to get me to back him up. I leave his a*s out to dry in the deafening silence.
He makes a poor attempt at cleaning the window and retrieves his steak. Mercifully, my boss asks me a question about work and we both dive eagerly into conversation.
We all resume the rest of the evening pretending that he isn't there, a sort of unspoken agreement by all that this is the only way to move forward.
As soon as we got to the car, my husband turned into a nervous chatterbox trying to explain himself.
Turns out the dumba*s didn't like the way his steak was cooked (rare) and - get this - he thought the window was open. My husband, ladies and gentleman, tried to chuck his steak out a 3-story window. He thought that was a reasonable solution to being served an under-cooked steak.
A year or so later my boss hosted a Christmas party for the company at her newly-built home. My best friend, Jennie, was my +1.Is this a plot twist?
Pregnant Wife Goes Into Labor From Spicy Food
From Redditor u/steglok:
So I'm currently posting this from the labor room of a birth care center. Earlier today my dad invited me and my wife to have lunch over at his mom's house (my grandma). Now I'm not close to my dad's side of the family, but I thought this would be a good chance to see my dad and reconnect with his side of the family.
Fast forward a few hours and there we are at my grandma's house when we are served a hot steaming plate of rice, beans and carne con chile rojo. For you non spanish speaking people out there, carne con chile rojo roughly translates to the devil's an*s (laughter pause here). Anyways, this dish is usually a gamble as the spice level is up to the person who cooked and prepared it. I had a general idea of what was in store for me and didn't really care since we came in hungry. As I took the first bite, I suddenly realized that I had made a grave mistake as my whole reality was shattered, and I was enlightened to what true heat was. I never experienced so much pain eating something in my entire life. Needless to say I finished my plate due to giving in to peer pressure. My wife only finished half of her plate, but one bit would be enough to send anyone to the bathroom.
Fast forward to a few hours later, my wife is having REALLY bad contractions, and I am having REALLY bad stomach problems. We finally decide that it's time to go to the hospital, meanwhile my stomach makes the great decision of saying let's empty out the pipes now. As we are on our way, I can only imagine how funny it must look to see both of us performing respiratory exercises to deal with our own problems. When we arrive at the hospital, I was probably seconds away from defecating on myself and my wife in serious pain.
Anyway here we are awaiting the results to see if me and my family caused her to go into labor.
I will post an update later this evening. Or you might just see me introduce my daughter to reddit on r/pics. Whatever comes first.
Update: I apologize for updating so late. I ended up dozing off. To answer the obvious question first no baby yet. Turns out the food caused her to go into latent labor. The nurse sent us home but believes we'll be back later today. I'm going to be a father by the end of this week the doctor said.
Update:Baby has arrived!Is this a plot twist?