This wasn't today, but I recently remembered it and thought it could be good for a laugh.

I had just started dating my now ex-boyfriend, I'll call him Alex. I want to say it was our second or third date. We were at his house watching a movie, and at one point I got thirsty and went to the fridge in the kitchen to get some water. The apartment was laid out like one big room with a wall in the middle to separate the kitchen and living room, with a couple bedrooms and a bathroom at the back. This meant that I could still hear the movie pretty well, so thankfully it wasn't paused and Alex stayed in the living room to watch.

The fridge was one of those really small ones that's pretty short, and the drinks were on the bottom shelf, so I knelt down so that I could find a water bottle. I honestly don't really understand what occurred next.

I went to stand up, and I must have been standing too close to the fridge. I was young, privileged, and had never encountered a fridge so short - or one with square shaped handles quite that sharp. I bashed the center of my forehead into the freezer handle while standing up, and immediately saw stars. My head was spinning, and my forehead felt like someone had sliced it open with a blunt knife.

I ran to the bathroom to inspect the damage, and there was indeed an open gash right down the very center of my head. I panicked.

Grabbing toilet paper to cover my head, I started looking for a bandaid. Everyone has bandaids right? It wasn't ideal to have a fucking bandaid right smack in the middle of my face, but at least I wouldn't be actively bleeding anymore.

Except he didn't have any. Anywhere. At this point I would have accepted a hat, a bandana even a goddamn haircut if it would cover my forehead. There was literally nothing in this stupid, empty bathroom to help me.

Thankfully in the time I'd been searching, the bleeding had slowed to a nearly imperceptible ooze. For some unknown reason, I figured the best course of action would be to just pretend like there was absolutely nothing wrong. At this point I had been gone for nearly 20 minutes, so when I casually walked back into the living room and sat down on the couch, Alex immediately turned to me and said: "Hey where were you- OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?"

Still committed to my plan, I feigned ignorance and actually asked him what was wrong. Eventually I did decide to acknowledge the giant cut on my forehead, and for a minute I considered gaslighting him into believing it had been there all day, but decided that this was going too far.

Admitting defeat, I explained what had happened in the kitchen. After making sure I was okay, he was howling with laughter that probably woke up all his neighbors. If you haven't discovered by my stupid plan to pretend that my war wounds from the battle of the refrigerator didn't exist, I'm a very proud person, and I tried every justification to insist it wasn't my fault, and even blamed him for having a short fridge. He obviously didn't care and just kept laughing, and I still to this day don't know why we ever went out again. Side note, I'm ridiculously clumsy, so sticking with me through this ordeal really proved that he was prepared for what was to come.

I wore a lot of hats during the start of our relationship to cover the healing wound, but I never usually wear them. Alex and I are still really good friends, and every time a picture of me from that time in a hat comes up he gets to joyfully relive the time I pretended not to have brutally injured myself during a date.

The best I can claim is that I was concussed.

TL;DR: I bashed the center of my forehead into my date's fridge handle, sliced open my head, disappeared for 20 minutes, and then tried to sit back down next to him like nothing had happened. He immediately discovered my brilliant scheme and has never let me live it down.

Obligatory not today, but I still frequently cringe when I think about it.

So I went to Florida with my then boyfriend to visit his dad. His dad bought us one of those tiny mayo squeeze bottles Hellmann’s sells because he knew we like mayo and he never eats it so he didn’t want any left over.

We had a little left by the end of our trip and decided to bring it with us on the plane to put on our Cuban sandwiches we got to-go right before the flight.

Well, the second I open the mayo bottle, the change in pressure forces the mayo all over the guy next to me, across the aisle and onto the people across the aisle from us. (I mean duh, I know about the pressure change, but it just never crossed my mind.)

I was MORTIFIED to the point of having to swallow tears (tbh ended up crying after due to the overwhelming embarrassment). Believe me when I say I have never wanted to disappear more than right then and there. I offered the guy all the cash in my wallet (like $60) to pay for dry cleaning since he was wearing a nicer button-down.

I actually couldn’t have been more grateful though because he told me a baby has barfed on him on a flight before and this isn’t worse than that.

But the next 2 hours were the most painful to sit through knowing what just did.

Anyways, if you guys think you’ve done something idiotic on a plane, I hope this makes you feel less of an idiot.

TL;DR: Brought a small squeeze bottle of mayo on a plane and it forcefully sprayed on the guy next to me and across the aisle.

For context, yesterday I tripped over my own two feet in my apartment and fell so comically badly, I bruised my side, knocked the wind outta myself for five minutes, and smacked my head so hard off the floor that the ricochet caused me to not be able to bend my neck the opposite direction from where I hit.

I hit my head so hard that my glasses arm snapped off. Not the hinge no, the metal where the arm first leaves the frame. You would think, oh this is when you go to the ER? no. After writhing on the floor until I could breathe again, I got up and went to work.

I spent about an hour and a half at work but my symptoms were getting worse including my arm going weak and numb. After encouraging from my coworkers who looked horrified when I described what I was feeling, I left and drove myself 35 minutes to the ER. Was there a closer one? Yes. But my work is quite far from my home and i’m on my parents insurance so I made sure to go to an ER near home. On this long drive to the ER not only did I hit a ton of traffic, but my leg started to go numb as well. Nevertheless, I continued on my journey jamming out to my tunes.

Now I spent roughly five hours in the ER getting chest x-rays for my ribs (which i thought was unnecessary but it did technically hurt to breathe) and a head ct. I tell them all my symptoms, the numbness, the hurts to breathe, hurts to move my neck, the going numb, the bit of dizziness, the fact that I may have passed out but i’m not quite sure and when i told her this she just gave me a look that i think means you would know if you didn’t, and the key symptom: my barely there headache. I’m taking occasional pain in different parts of my head, not consistent at all, incredibly tolerable. The only part of my head that technically really hurts is where I hit it and that’s only when i touch it or raise my eyebrows.

My CT is negative, no brain bleed or stroke (not sure if a fall can cause a stroke but I had a lot of time on my hands for what ifs), my ribs are fine, the numbness is likely from a pinched nerve or damaged muscle during the fall, basically I’m fine I think. The doctor comes in to explain and she says everything is negative you just have a concussion. However in my head, I’m like and what proves this? I feel mostly fine and like no headache which I thought was a needed thing for a concussion. She gives me my work note, giving me off work until Friday which normally I would love but I am poor and kinda need to work. I go on my merry way, thinking I am fine wow all that was for nothing.

I send my work my note, even emailing HR to see if I can come in Thursday if I am feeling better since I think I’m fine (They said no btw). Then I set my alarms for my therapy appointment in the morning, take my meds, and go to sleep.

Here’s where my F up comes in.

I wake up today, bam, it’s thirty minutes past my appointment time. Then, oh my god I am going to throw up. I go to get out of bed, everything hurts EXCEPT MY HEAD. Every limb aches, my neck is crazy stiff and my ribs are so sore. I manage my way to hobble to the bathroom and collapse to the floor along with the rest of my dignity and process to puke several times. I am now crawled back in my bed aching and tired. I message my therapist and get my appointment rescheduled, and do some googling I should’ve done before.

Oh! Not having a headache doesn’t mean you don’t have a concussion! I did not know this and assumed the headache was like the main thing and needed. I thought they said a concussion at the ER because it wasn’t anything else and that she gave me the time off work to be kind since she smiled when she said it. So now I know I do in fact have a concussion and let me tell y’all it sucks and yes I should’ve believed the doctor but I assumed I was being dramatic.

Now i’m stuck in bed, in pain everywhere (except my head), missed my appointment, can’t go to work, I was supposed to go to the store but that’s not happening, and i’m irritated.

Yeah, believe your doctors when they tell you it’s a concussion and you should take some precautions to help yourself.

TL;DR: I assumed my concussion wasn’t really much of a concussion since I barely had a headache and was proven very wrong this morning.

EDIT: After reading some of your comments I want to clarify, I know that I did all the wrong things that’s why it’s posted here. I didn’t take it serious enough when it happened and I am paying the price and with the hindsight of I really messed up and that it wasn’t safe to do what I did and I really could’ve been so much worse and a risk.

My brother just had identical twin boys a few months ago. They are truly identical. More than I wouldve thought possible. No birthmarks…same hair color…truly just an uncanny resemblance to each other. Because of this they almost always are wearing little baby clothes that have their names embroidered on them, to keep people from mixing them up. I was sitting for them a few days ago, which was the first time I’d watched them. While I was getting them ready for bed I thought it would be easier to undress them both, change both their diapers, grab both of their pajama outfits, then change them one right after the other. After I took off their regular play clothes and threw them into the hamper, I realized I neglected to keep track of which baby was on which side. I retraced my steps and movements, tried to remember which outfit wouldve been on the top of the hamper, but I just couldn’t be sure.

After having a mini panic attack I realized there was nothing I could do. I put them in outfits that corresponded to my best guess. I’m a few days removed from this debacle and I now feel almost positive that I mixed them up. I haven’t said a word to my brother or his wife. I haven’t even told my wife because I feel so much shame over this.

The boys don’t have any health differences or issues, so I’m not gonna say anything. But I feel like a bad uncle.

TL;DR: I think I switched my identical twin nephews while babysitting, but I cannot be sure.

I had just gotten out of the shower and realized that I had forgotten to clean the toilet yesterday. I figured I still wasn't wearing any clothes and it might as well get it cleaned before I got dressed. Cleaning the toilet was fine, and I even made a point of scrubbing the bidet tube that sticks down, but it occurred to me that I never actually managed to clean the part that pops out and sprays water onto me.

This bidet has a relatively sensitive twist knob with one direction being clean the nozzle and the other direction being clean the person with a stop in the middle. I figured it would be fine if I turned the knob on just a tiny little bit to get the nozzle to pop out. And that was fine... until I went to turn it off and I turned it the wrong direction. Luckily I didn't turn it too far, but wow that sprayer has some range. I wound up spraying myself, missing the shower curtain (it went I to the shower), and the floor with a little bit of water out of the bidet tube.

Gross, but good thing I hadn't gotten dressed yet. Hopped back in the shower and wound up cleaning the floor.

TLDR: Carefully turned the bidet on low while cleaning the toilet, then accidentally sprayed myself with it.

This disaster involes more emotional turmoil and less missing facial hair than you're probably expecting. Sorry. The love of my life tried hair removal cream on her legs for the first time. It worked really well. She was showing off her smooth legs afterwards, and she was naked so naturally I got a little excited. I love going down her, it literally makes my mouth water, so I got into position and inhaled deeply the way I always do. Bad idea. Apparently the fumes from the cream clung to her skin, and some of it got splashed a little higher up than it should've been when she was trying to rinse it off. So I'm expecting my favorite thing in the world and instead I get a lungful of acrid chemicals. My tongue tastes awful. It's burning my throat. I recoil in horror and croak, without thinking, "Oh it smells!"

Yeah, I fucked up. I realize what I've said immediately and add "The cream! The cream, not you!" But it's too late. She's already crying. She pulled the covers up over her head and I tried to comfort her from the other side of the blanket: apologies, explanations (some of which made things worse somehow), hugs, box of tissues, etc. Finally I asked if she needed some space, and she did, so I went and did some chores around the house while feeling like a massive jackass.

After dinner we finally managed to talk about what happened. We agreed that no one was at fault and she probably would've done the same if the roles were reversed. We're getting married next week and she's dealing with a lot emotionally (we're estranged from her parents and they're not invited), so I this was really just a dam bursting and most of the emotions weren't necessarily related to the incident. She did take a shower and scrub off the rest of the smell, and I finally stopped tasting it after an hour or two.

Making her cry was awful. I tell her how beautiful she is every single day, and I hate that she could think even for a moment that I'm not attracted to her. I so am. I love her and I can't wait to marry her. I hope we look back on this and laugh someday.

TL;DR Hair removal cream tastes very bad. My fiancée thought I was disgusted by her.

TIFU. I was leaving a relative’s place to go back to college after my vacations. I had my usual suitcase and backpack, but I also had a paper bag in my hand with some new formal shoes for college, a protein shaker bottle, and some home cooked food from my aunt.

I was in a hurry as they started boarding a bit early than I had expected so I forgot that bag at the airport. I realised it as soon as I got past the gate so I went back, but they wouldn’t let me back inside nor did they just get me my bag even though it was just a minute walk from the gate.

I called the lost and found as soon as I landed, they found it an hour or so ago, they are saying they don’t have the authority to send it to me here or to my relatives place near the airport.

I talked to my mom about it , she said I should tell my uncle to pick it up from there, but I am ashamed and embarrassed to ask him. My aunt was the one who made the food for my that was in the bag, I really don’t want to hurt them by telling them that I forgot it at the airport.

Even more than that, I spent the entire flight having anxiety over it, I have had some rough moments In my life recently as it is, I guess this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. I have terrible anxiety so I have been spiralling for hours and stress eating.

Tl;Dr
I forgot a bag at the airport before boarding my flight to college. Now I am embarrassed to ask a relative to collect it from the airport lost and found because it contained the food that they had made for me . Suffer from anxiety so I went into a spiral after that for the entire flight.

EDIT: My friend did not participate in bodyshaming, she was sent a screenshot of a conversation by HER friend and was shocked.

This happened 2 days ago. We live in a small city and most people in our age group (lates 20s) interact with each other in some way or are acquaintances. There is this guy who is dating a colleague of mine and also a close friend of my bestie. He's been playing both of them for a while now and talks shit about one girl to the other. It is a sad situation because everyone gossips about them when they are not around. Last week my best friend showed me a screenshot from that guy and her friend. The guy literally sent her a NUDE picture of my colleague and they were making fun of her body. The things they said were pretty disgusting and it crossed a line for me. On monday I let my colleague know so she can hopefully delete any other pictures she has sent him. This caused a chain reaction and a lot of drama. My best friend called my crying because her friend does not want to talk to her anymore. She showed me something in confidence and I betrayed that. I understand why she cannot trust me anymore. She is one of the most important people in my life and I hate that I didn't think of how this would affect her. I just feel so divided and guilty. I don't believe I did the wrong thing by letting my colleague know, she deserves to know that her picture was shared (I did not tell anything on the comments they made about her body). However, I put my best friend in an awful situation and have no idea how I can make things right with her :/

TL;DR: My best friend shared something with me in confidence about another person and I let them know, creating a fallout between her and a friend.

I was gonna choke the chicken as one does when they feel the need to, so I go to grab the lotion from my nightstand drawer so I reach in and grab what I think is the lotion. It’s dark and I keep my biofreeze and lotion in the same drawer, so I get going and I begin to feel the most pain I have ever felt in my entire life, just sheer burning and stinging the likes of which have never been seen before by the likes of man so I’m laying there in utter horror from the combination of the surface of the sun and the freezing arctic battle it out on my commander and chief. At this point I’m howling in pain and I’m running into the bathroom to try and shower it off unfortunately it’s not stopping it in fact the hot water is making it infinitely worse so I turn the water off and plop down on the floor of the tub and I just suffer through the next half hour of despair till the burning finally subsides enough to live.

TL;DR: I use biofreeze instead of lotion to goon and I suffer because of my lustfullness.

I’ve been seeing this boy for a little bit now and I really like him, and he did like me.

it was morning and we went for brunch in the city centre, we had been drinking last night but not loads.

we finished eating and were walking to the bus stop when i just paused, suddenly feeling the overwhelming urge to throw up, and chundered 3 times on the side of the road. it was 1pm. i want to die.

i couldn’t reach a bin or anywhere to throw up, so i just went to the corner of the road. everyone was watching and it was absolutely humiliating. i apologised and told everyone im not feeling well.

i messaged him and apologised and he just replied ‘its fine, it happens’. i think he’s lost interest in me now.

TL;DR - chundered on the street from a hangover and now i think im going to get ghosted.

Been dating my girlfriend for about 8 months and finally had dinner with her parents yesterday.

Her name is Lana. That's what she introduced herself as and what everyone calls her.

During dinner her mom kept calling her Svetlana. Her dad did it a couple times too. I'd never heard that word before and thought it was some embarrassing childhood nickname or an inside joke.

My girlfriend looked a little annoyed whenever they said it, so I figured they were teasing her.

Eventually I asked "Why do you guys keep calling her Svetlana? What does that even mean? Are you making fun of her?"

Her mom just stared at me and said "That's her name. I named her."

Turns out Svetlana is an actual name and Lana is just what my girlfriend prefers to go by. Somehow in 8 months I'd never learned her full name.

Her dad started laughing and my girlfriend looked like she wanted to disappear. I tried explaining that I thought they were teasing her, which made it sound like I was accusing her parents of bullying their own daughter.

The rest of dinner was painfully awkward. My girlfriend thought it was hilarious afterward but also asked why I couldn't have just asked her privately.

TL;DR: Thought my girlfriend's real name was some weird nickname her parents used to tease her. Accused them of making fun of her during our first dinner together.

At my college campus, there are many missionaries that routinely approach people to try to talk to them. I don't really care. However, week after week, day after day, they kept approaching me: sometimes the same ones. Every time I told them no thank you, sorry, etc.

I am Jewish. I wear a magen david on my neck, but that's only visible sometimes as it's a necklace and can slip under my shirt. I assumed they didn't know. Finally, I was late to class today and one stopped me (I know I should have kept walking, but I am unfortunately very socially anxious and have a hard time not being polite) I once again told him no, I wasn't interested. He asked me why. I said I was Jewish. He smiled and said "I know! But Jesus still loves you. Different beliefs are welcome: He'd be cool with it!" And seemed very pleased with himself for using 'casual' language towards the end. I responded in a very stern voice "Jesus was not cool. He literally died a virgin." and walked away. Now, what I said doesn't exactly make a whole lot of sense? I just heard 'jesus' and 'cool' and was pretty annoyed and wanted to say something to get him to leave me alone. I was probably harsher than I should have been. But Christians trying to convert Jews is not uncommon, and I was rather stressed about getting to class.

Since then, every time the missionaries see me, they make a wide space away from me, frown at me and murmur to each other. I guess I'm finally being left alone, but it's been crazy the entire day watching the always smiling missionaries frown and jog away from me. I feel kinda bad as I don't really like the idea of insulting anyone's faith.

TL;DR: I told the missionaries that kept bothering me despite knowing that I was Jewish that Jesus was not cool.

I work as an English teacher and we were going over jobs. One job that came up was 'a nurse', and I ask who wanted to be one. Only girls raised their hands and I said 'Guys can be nurses too' of which all of the boys started making sounds. I tried to look up 'male nurses in hospital' and in a previous class it worked fine, but I was using Google; this time I was using Bing since my VPN wasn't working and the search result images were a bunch of half naked male models. The students are now chirping that I showed them something inappropriate. I tried closing the tab and using a different search engine but the damage was done; these kids have the memory of an iron trap when it comes to anything they think is a scandal. Next time I'll make sure all potential searches are already saved in another tab.

TL;DR: I used a different search engine to find pictures for my class, ended up getting shirtless male models and now the students are telling everyone about it.

Our class group chat is 24 parents and it never stops. Lost water bottles, “does anyone know if there’s school Monday,” a 40-message thread about lice. I muted it in September and felt amazing.

Last Saturday I had 91 unread. Somewhere in there, in a reply to a reply to a photo of a cake, the birthday mom said the party was moving from the park to their house because of rain.

We showed up at the park, got out in the rain trying to find where everyone was, waiting in the covered pavilion for 15 minutes assuming we were just early. Finally my daughter, holding the gift, asking where everyone was.

I finally scrolled back far enough in the WhatApp messages and realized on Friday at 9:47pm, right between “has anyone seen a blue Hydro Flask” and some other inane message that the party had been moved to their house because of "the rain forecast."

We made it to the house an hour late, soaked. The birthday mom was lovely about it. My daughter has told her grandma, her teacher, and a man at Trader Joe’s that “Mommy took us to the wrong party.”

TL;DR: muted the class group chat, missed the one message that mattered, took my kid to an empty park in the rain.

My parents recently switched internet providers and I offered to handle cancelling their old service since my dad hates dealing with that stuff.

The old package included a landline. We haven't had an actual house phone plugged in for years, so when the representative asked whether we wanted to keep the number, I said no.

Turns out my dad has been using that number for his small cabinetry business since the late 90s. All the calls were automatically forwarded to his mobile, which is why I never heard the house phone ring.

The number is printed on his work van, business cards, old invoices and probably hundreds of pieces of paperwork.

We only found out what I'd done when one of his regular customers stopped by the workshop and mentioned that the phone number wasn't working.

I called the provider back and apparently getting the number restored isn't as simple as reversing the cancellation. They opened a request but couldn't guarantee anything.

My dad wasn't even angry, which somehow made it worse. He just asked why I didn't check with him first.

I've spent most of today helping him contact customers and update his business information online. Still waiting to hear whether we can recover the number.

TL;DR: Cancelled my parents' unused landline without realizing it was actually my dad's business number of 25 years. Now his customers can't reach him through it.

Hello. I am definitely a card shop owner in Arizona. Obligatory “all names have been changed and rearranged to protect the innocent here “. I once had this guy who out of the blue started coming into my store and spending wads of cash on product. Like just ripping through wax like he hit the lottery (he didn’t hit the lottery, his wife died and he got a major judgment ). He purchased low level NFL mlb stuff at first, but then bought pretty much anything I suggested.

Eventually he bought my babe Ruth Lou Gehrig signed ball for 13k, certified, and then he hits the holy grail. Michael Jordan LeBron James dual enshrinements autograph 4/10 exquisite 06/07, not a redemption. Not a sticker. Great griffin shape. I instantly offered him 1k cash for it or 10k product. But I think even HE was not that dumb. That’s okay. I’ll get my grail card one way or another other.

Time goes on, he invited me on his radio show. I plug my store, lox seat collectibles. I offer him a great deal for the superbowl that’s coming to our state in February 2008. NFL experience booth is 3k. I’m splitting it with somebody. I invited him to split my half in half even more and gave him a good deal: 1500 bucks.

When he eventually realized that he was paying for my section too he started pulling his product from my store. I didn’t realize it until my store employee calls and tells me “hey ruche is taking all his stuff plus that Jordan LeBron I know you wanted “. I had him talk to me on the phone. I explained to ruche “hey I sold that card already you can’t take it “. To my surprise he didn’t put up much argument.

he did eventually pull all his stuff minus that card (and a few others I felt I deserved just dealing with this kid).

Then I remembered hey he’s got a nice baseball too. And I remember I have a m I’ll friend of his that he runs into every now and then. I asked him how we could get that ball. The friend goes “let’s get him hooked on bloke and make him pay us for it with that!”

Brilliant.

So now I am holding on to a 100k card and 80k signed ball with four autographs that are of my favorite players.

All this would have went away quietly but this guy suddenly has a lawyer looking into it based on pictures he took of the card and pictures of the boxes he ripped em from receipts and all.

I think I’m in trouble.

TLDR (too lame didn’t read): I ruined a guys life for 200k. And I don’t know if I’d do it again.

This story has served as an icebreaker and remained the “what’s the worst first date” prompt answer on my Hinge the entire time I had my profile.

To set the scene, I was 20. I had recently broken up with my girlfriend a month earlier for cheating on me and decided I was going to give dating another chance. I was yet to recognise that I was a lesbian and thus matched with a man. First mistake; there were many to follow.

Let’s call him ‘Mark.’ Mark was studying Marine Biology, which I found super cool, and we’d been chatting over Tinder for a week before agreeing to go on a date. His parents lived in a town around an hour from my home, while he lived in a rural town four hours further away, but he was soon to move back in with his parents. Because of this, he asked me to plan the date as he wasn’t familiar with the area.

I wasn’t either, but thankfully I have access to Google and researched cute restaurants in the area. I also found a local park that had a bird lookout nearby. He did birdwatching as a hobby, so I thought it would be sweet to go there afterwards. I thought it was perfect and we’d have a great time. I was very, very, very wrong. And afterwards, a touch traumatised.

The time of the date arrives; I drive the hour to his parents’ house, as I will be driving him for two reasons: a) he doesn’t have a car, and b) he doesn’t have a job, so he cannot afford to Uber to the restaurant. I blissfully ignore these red flags and happily drive myself to this monster’s house. Mark comes bounding out of the house and presents me with some chocolates he got for me! How sweet of him; every single one of them was melted. On this date, he was wearing a Sea Shepherd T-shirt, distressed black cargo pants and had a one-shoulder backpack. The backpack becomes more relevant later.

On the drive to the restaurant, Mark didn’t speak much, and when he did, he would often speak over my answers to his questions. So overall, an excellent start. I give him the benefit of the doubt and chalk it up to nervousness. We get to the restaurant, and he complains about the hill we have to walk up to reach the restaurant, asking me why I couldn’t have parked closer. We reach the restaurant and sit down at our table. He insists that he pay for my meal, and I explain to him that, as a rule, I don’t let people pay for me on a first date. Mark gets frustrated at this and tells me that it isn’t right, and that, as a man, he should pay. While he teaches me this, I bring my card down on the reader and give him a smile.

We eventually get into the flow of conversation back at our table, discussing our studies. Eventually the conversation pivots to family, and I explain that I’ve been anxiously checking my phone every now and again for a notification from my sister, who was due to have her second baby any day. Mark goes, “Awww, how old is she?” I explain that she’s 29. His response to this? “Wow, that doesn’t give us much time!”

In my mind are three clear messages:

What the fuck?

I never want to have kids, ever.

I especially am never having kids with YOU!

I should have ended the date right then and there, but I was very naive. This was the second person I was ever going on a date with, and I thought he was just a bit awkward at this point. I’m also very much a people pleaser and wanted to at least continue with the date a little longer. Our dinner hadn’t even arrived.

At one point, while we were agonisingly waiting for our meals, Mark apologised for if he seemed shy; he just can’t believe a girl as beautiful as me accepted his date. He also expressed how excited he was for the date I had planned, the whole thing a surprise to him, as he didn’t want to concern himself with any of the details. He said he hoped it was “a good surprise!”

In hindsight, I can recognise how much of a wanker he was. But unfortunately, at the time, I was apparently wearing rose coloured glasses that hid the tint of all the red flags he was throwing at me.

Following dinner, I made the EXCELLENT decision to keep this date going and drive him to the park nearby. We got out of my car, and I brought along a snack, a little 3-pack of Ferrero Rocher that had been sitting in my car all afternoon and hadn't melted. Seriously, how the hell was he storing the chocolates he gave me??? Under his armpit? He generously holds them for me in his backpack, and we start walking.

The charmer that this guy is, he pulls out the “can you hold something for me?” and holds out his sweaty palm for me to grab. It is at this point that my patience is wearing thin. Nevertheless, I grab his hand, and we start walking; he’s teaching me about all the wildlife we’re seeing along the way, and he starts pointing out some of the local plant species. He then gasps, drops my hand and runs 20 metres down the path- the path we were walking down already, the path which would have led us to where he is anyway. Which is at the base of a tree. A Wollemi Pine, he says, one of the oldest and rarest trees in Australia. Pretty cool. What is not cool is that he insists I stand to pose at the base of this tree for a photo, and then that we take a selfie together.

As we start walking again to the bird lookout, he turns to me and says, “Do you want to know why I asked you out on this date?”

I smile and say, “Sure, why did you ask me?”

He then launches into an incredible tale. “Two weeks ago,” he says, “I met the love of my life and we went on a couple of dates together, but then she broke my heart and told me that she’s more of a country girl while I’m a city boy. Which isn’t even true!” This last part was said with the intonation of a toddler throwing a tantrum.

It is at this point that I horrifyingly realise this man is actually just a total loser and may just be insane.

He proceeds to say, “But since I met you and we started talking, I can feel happiness again! I’ve been on dates with so many girls where it goes so well, but then they turn me down for a second date, and it makes me so mad! You won’t do that to me, will you?”

Finally, the annoying buzzing that had been present in my head comes blasting through as alarm bells, and I realise that if I don’t play my part perfectly, this ‘date’ could go south very quickly.

So of course I say, “No! I’m having such a great time! We’ll definitely be going on another date!”

This time, as we walk, my palm is equally as sweaty as his.

We finally reach the bird lookout on the lake, which, as it turns out, is more of a bird cabin, and no one else is around. Perfect!

Mark and I enter the deserted and very fucking creepy bird cabin, and we sit on the bench inside. He leans forward for a kiss, and I oblige him; he tastes like garlic. There was no garlic in his food at dinner.

While sitting on the bench, we each eat a Ferrero Rocher in here and reach a conundrum: who gets the last chocolate? In his apparently bountiful romanticism, Mark asks me if I’ve ever seen ‘The Lady and the Tramp’ and puts half the chocolate in his mouth, with the other half of it hanging out, and insists I bite it from him. A move that has been replicated by many of my friends after I told them this story, and still causes me to shiver. I just pat my stomach and insisted that “I’m so full from dinner! But thank you! That’s so sweet!”

He lets it go, and we go back to watching the birds, with him telling me each of their species and me praying for a god to strike me down. Around this time, we hear footsteps around the cabin from someone’s sneakers crunching on the gravel.

And I decide to do what I always do in awkward situations and make a joke. “Oh, this is the part where some serial killer comes out to get us”, I say.

He laughs and says, “No, this is the part where you pull a knife out to get me!”

I look at him and say, “I’m wearing a dress! Where could I even be hiding that? You’re the one who brought a backpack”

He swings the backpack around, unzips it, and reaches into the front pocket. AND PULLS OUT A POCKET KNIFE!! Not just a little petite Swiss Army knife, but one with multiple jagged blades. By the grace of god, I keep calm as he presents it to me like it’s show and tell. He has also apparently brought with him a small tactical torch that flashes in a manner specifically to blind people.

So while before I thought, ‘Oh, this guy might be insane,’ now I knew it for certain. I managed not to show the panic I’m experiencing on my face, an Oscar-worthy performance and instead say, “Oh! Whoa, that’s so cool!”

He agrees and thankfully puts the knife and torch back into his bag and zips it up.

I take this moment to say, “Hey, why don’t we walk to the lookout on top of the park?”

Where I know there will be more people, and we will be out of this horror movie-style cabin.

By the grace of god, he thinks that this is a good idea. And we begin our trek. On the way there, he asks me if I sing often. I tell him that I do it for fun every now and again, but it’s not like I’m getting up on a stage anytime soon. It is here that he asks me if he can sing a song for me, because I remind him of a song he likes.

I can give you a moment here to think of all possible songs that might be considered romantic- many moments, in fact- and the song he chose is not any of them.

He proceeds to ask me if he can borrow my phone to play the song for me, as he doesn’t have Spotify Premium. I grant him my phone, and the opening notes to ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ by Queen begin to disrupt the peace of the park. He serenades me with this song, which I previously loved, and the lookout tower finally comes into view. I will also say, his singing was dogshit. Once he was finished, he gave my phone back to me and said, “Okay, what song makes you think of me?”

He requests I sing for him, and I try to turn him down, but he insists, and so at knifepoint I pull a Mama’s and Papa’s song out of my ass to sing for him. I’m not above admitting that my cover was far better than his.

As we sit at one of the benches on the lookout, Mark tells me, “I’ve really had so much fun on our date! Where do you want to take me for our next one?”

Before I can respond to the goddamn audacity that this dipshit has, he interrupts and says, “Oh! My friend from Hong Kong will be here for the next two weeks, so I’ll be spending most of my time with him, but if you can show us good places to go in the city and take us, that would be good. And you mentioned your dad has a boat; would you be able to take us fishing? After that, you and I can go on a date, but it’d be more of a casual thing. I’m not looking for a full-on relationship, maybe eventually, though.”

I tell him, “Maybe! I’m really busy with work, so I’ll have to see. Speaking of which, I have a shift early in the morning, so I should take you home now.”

Thanks to some miracle, he acquiesces, and though he pouts, he lets me drive him home. On the way there, he decides to tell me about his love for Kanye West’s music and his political opinions, and I contemplate driving us off the bridge we’re going across.

After what feels like a lifetime, I pull up to his house and unlock the car doors, promising to message him to arrange our next date. He gets out and then walks over to my side of the car, asking me to wind down my window so he can kiss me goodbye one last time, fortunately it isn’t as strong of garlic this time; unfortunately, he is still as terrible a kiss as last time.

As soon as he pulls out and walks over to his house, I peel out of the street and make it to my grandma’s house nearby, begging her to peel me out of my dress so I can shower as I relay the events of the night to her. I come out of the shower to a text message from Mark saying, “Thanks for today! I had a great time, and I hope it’s the same for you”

Awwww, isn’t that so sweet! My soulmate!

I respond, “I’m sorry to say, Mark, it won’t work out. Just not feeling a spark”

He sends back immediately, “Perchance may I ask why you feel that way?”

And I block him. The use of ‘perchance’ truly was the nail in the coffin of one of the most horrendous nights of my life. Thankfully, I view the night now as being funny, and my friends love it when we get asked, “What’s the worst date you’ve been on?” Because they all get to turn to me and have me retell this story. Mark is commonly known as ‘knife guy’ to my friends and family.

TL:DR

I go on a date with a guy who decides it's a good idea to bring a knife with him, as well as a tactical torch used for blinding people. He also requests I eat a chocolate out of his mouth 'Lady and the Tramp' style and serenades me with 'Fat Bottomed Girls' by Queen. I live to tell the tale.

For context: My good friend (22m) and I met around three years ago, and around 1.5 years ago, he met his girlfriend (23f) through me. Kind of a mutual friend thing. I met my girlfriend (22f) around the same time, so we've done a lot of couple activities together and are generally really close as a quartet.

Around two weeks ago, we went out to eat at this pretty nice restaurant in our city to celebrate my friend's recent promotion at his new job. It was a really nice time, and afterward we headed to their apartment for wine and dessert. Everything was super nice, just chilling, listening to music, drinking wine, etc...

At one point, my friend headed to the kitchen to start cleaning up the plates and glasses and stuff, as my girlfriend and I had planned on leaving soon. While he was cleaning, his phone started blowing up. He was just getting notification after notification, ding after ding. He could hear it from the kitchen, and quickly asked me who it was that was texting him. So of course I took his phone, typed in his password, and was greeted by a fair share of promiscuous photos and messages from a woman affectionately titled "Work".

Without thinking, I just asked him point blank, "Why is your work texting you that [insert flirty line here]?" It instantly flipped a switch in the room. I remember distinctly seeing everyone's head abruptly snap up at me as I said it. I quickly realized what it meant. To make a long story short, it turns out my friend is a serial cheater and was hooking up with his ex. His gf went to stay with her parents, and my gf and I awkwardly left.

It's been weird ever since then. To be clear, I think that what my friend did was absolutely fucking awful and truly deplorable, but I somehow feel guilty for even shining a light on the situation. I've met up with him once after that incident, where he seemed extremely apologetic and guilty. I also asked him why he'd ask me to look at his phone if he knew it could ruin his relationship, and he said that he usually muted and hid her conversation on his phone. But why would her name be "Work" then??? I'm so confused...

TL;DR: I accidentally exposed my friend's cheating when he asked me to check his buzzing phone. His girlfriend left, and I feel guilty despite knowing he's completely in the wrong.

Obligatory disclaimer: This happened yesterday and today. My leg is currently held together by five stitches, and my dignity is somewhere in the emergency department's lost-and-found.

So, for context, I'm staying at a temporary accommodation facility where the staff are responsible for looking after me.

Now, before we get to the part where my leg becomes an unwilling participant in this circus, some context.

My mental health has been going about as well as a Boeing aircraft's quality-control inspection.

Basically, life kept throwing punches, and instead of developing normal coping skills, my brain went, "You know what would make this situation better? Having access to sharp objects."

Because apparently, when life gives me lemons, I don't make lemonade. I start collecting things that could send me to the emergency department.

The logic was that having something I could hurt myself with made me feel like I still had control over my life.

Do I think that's a healthy coping mechanism?

Hell yeah. Absolutely flawless. Somebody get me a Nobel Prize in psychology. ✌️🥀(To ppl who apparently doesn't understand irony, i do not believe this is a good way to cope)

Anyway, back to the consequences of my outstanding psychological expertise.

When I packed my things for my temporary accommodation, I brought a knife.

Not because I wanted to attack anyone. Not because I needed it for some elaborate survival expedition.

I brought it because I was struggling, and having it nearby had become a deeply unhealthy form of reassurance.

And because this is a TIFU story, you can probably guess how well that worked out.

ACT I: THE MASTER PLAN

Eventually, I started worrying that someone might discover the knife.

Now, a normal person might have thought, "Perhaps I should hand this over before something happens."

Unfortunately, the management department of my brain was apparently on unpaid leave.

Instead, I decided that I needed to make sure nobody found it.

This is where the story becomes a Greek tragedy written by someone with a concussion.

Because my brilliant solution involved putting the knife in my pocket.

Yes.

My pocket.

The very pocket attached to my leg.

ACT II: THE UNIVERSE HAS ENTERED THE CHAT

At some point, the knife injured my leg.

And suddenly, the thing I was trying to keep secret had become a medical problem.

I was bleeding. Walking hurt. I was limping.

The universe had apparently decided that subtlety was overrated.

So I called Sweden's medical advice service, 1177.

They recommended getting the injury checked.

Fantastic.

A knife I didn't want anyone to know about had now generated an official medical consultation.

And the situation was only getting started.

ACT III: DAD HAS JOINED THE SERVER

Eventually, I had to call my dad.

Imagine explaining to your father that you need medical attention because of an injury involving an object you weren't supposed to have brought with you in the first place.

There is no elegant way to deliver that information.

"Hey Dad, how's your day? Anyway, funny story about my leg."

I was also worried about what the accommodation staff would think, because I'd spent months building up their trust and earning more independence.

So not only had I injured myself, but I was now facing the possibility of having to explain the entire situation to multiple adults.

At this point, my original plan to avoid attention was going spectacularly well.

ACT IV: FIVE STITCHES AND A BOSS FIGHT

Off to get medical treatment.

Turns out, my leg needed five stitches.

FIVE.

The local anaesthetic was honestly the most impressive part of the entire experience.

The injection wasn't particularly pleasant, but once it started working, I could barely feel the actual stitching.

Modern medicine: 10/10.

My decision-making: Currently under investigation.

And there I was, getting my leg sewn back together, reflecting on the fact that this entire medical side quest originated from trying to avoid getting caught with a knife.

ACT V: THE FINAL PLOT TWIST

Now here's the part that really makes this a TIFU.

The staff ended up searching my room for the knife.

The whole reason I'd been trying to keep it out of sight was to avoid exactly that kind of situation.

And what caused everything to unravel?

MY ATTEMPT TO HIDE IT.

I was so concerned about someone discovering the knife that I made a decision that resulted in the knife becoming the central topic of everyone's day.

I didn't just fail to prevent the problem.

I personally manufactured the circumstances that made the problem impossible to ignore.

It's like trying to avoid a speeding ticket by driving directly into a police station.

Except instead of a ticket, I got five stitches and an extremely awkward family conversation.

THE AFTERMATH

I'm home now.

My leg has been stitched up. My dad knows what happened. The staff know about the knife. And I'm still dealing with the consequences of a plan that somehow managed to achieve the exact opposite of its intended purpose.

All because I thought putting a knife in my pocket was a reasonable solution.

I would like to formally apologize to my leg for involving it in a management decision it did not approve.

TL;DR: My mental health was in a rough place, and I'd started keeping dangerous objects around as an unhealthy way of feeling in control. Brought a knife to my temporary accommodation, worried someone would discover it, and tried to keep it hidden by putting it in my pocket. Accidentally injured my leg, had to contact medical services, ended up telling my dad, and needed five stitches. The thing that exposed my secret was literally my attempt to keep it secret. My leg paid the price for my brain's tactical genius.

Edit: Disclaimer, i do not encourage that anymore uses sh as a coping method. I just wanted to write abt something that happened to me today

Ok a little bit of context.

When my daughter turned 8 we did a birthday party at the park, it poured rain and was freezing cold and just over all sucked. Bad choice to do a birthday party outside in October. Year after that we didnt plan anything with friends and she was devastated. I felt really bad. We were short on money and honestly Im just terrible at remembering to plan these things. We did still celebrate and open presents with family though so its not like she was forgotten.

Last year I tried to make up for the year before by doing a fun D&D/Fantasy themed scavenger hunt and "potion" making. (They were ice cream floats with edible glitter and pop rocks.) She had fun, but if we hadn't been picking up two of the kids no one would have shown up. I felt terrible for her and I still wonder if I didnt give enough time.

This year it snuck up on me again but we're a little better off financially and I can take her and a few friends out. We're going to go to an arcade then do dessert after. However it's short notice, just one day in advance. Im trying to make it easy on parents. Im willing to pick them up, I have the space, and no presents, shes already done two "parties" where we opened presents. One on her actual birthday at home and one the Sunday after with family.

All I can think about is how disappointed she was the year we didnt do anything with friends and it breaks my heart to think people might not come this year.

My mom was always an amazing party planner and my parties growing up were so much fun. They were never extravagant money wise, she just always put so much thought and effort into them and I just... Can't. I have such a hard time planning parties and things like that. I try not to compare myself to the way my mom did things, but I feel so inadequate and like a POS for not putting more effort in.

TL;DR; I forgot to plan my daughter's birthday party until last minute and now im afraid no one is going to show up and I'll have ruined another birthday.

A few years ago, when I was in Beijing, I took the metro. It was busy, but not packed. All the seats were taken, but I was fine standing. Being a grown man, I figured nobody would ever give up their seat for me anyway. Or so I thought.

An old Chinese man looked at me, stood up and said: "You. Sit."

I assumed he was just being polite to a foreigner, so I said: "No, no, thank you. It's okay. Very kind."

"No. You sit."

"No, really, it's fine."

He shook his head, clearly disappointed that I still didn't get it. Then he made a big round belly with his hands and pointed at the sticker on the window: the priority seat sign with a pregnant lady on it.

"You. That. You sit."

I laughed so loud the whole carriage looked at me. You cheeky bastard. Thank you.

For the record: I was not pregnant. I was and still am a bearded man. To this day I don't know if he was roasting me or whether it was just hilarious.

TL;DR: An old man on the Beijing metro insisted on giving me his seat. When I refused, he mimed a pregnant belly. I'm a man.

Semester course load finally caught up with me. This week, I have multiple assignments due and an exam today. I am a student at Liston campus at CCRI. However I spent the weekend visiting my friends at Johnson and Wales and I just went way harder then I normally do and especially for a weekend when I should have been responsible and doing schoolwork. So I scramble home Sunday completely dead--my friend and I carpooled so she handled the drive home thank god, and I did quite literally the worst assignment I ever submitted. I wake up which just my room a mess, I grab the wrong purse and start driving to campus. Like 6 mins into my drive I see cop headlights and siren turn on I pull over to the shoulder, I assumed it was not for me. I switched lanes without using my turn signal, so it was actually me getting pulled over. This when I realized I grabbed the wrong purse and I did not have license. I got a ticket for driving without my license, so I turned around return home to grab my bag which had my license and got to school. This where I effed up again bc this time in my purse I grabbed that had my license I wound up forgetting to grab my student ID out of my initial bad. So I get to campus and am going to the testing center and looking for my student ID and that is when it hit me that I now had left that at home. I had to run to the other side of campus to get a new student ID so I could swipe into the testing center for my scheduled test time.

TL;DR I went out with my friends this weekend which led to me grabbing the wrong purse, forgetting my student ID, and my license and I subsequently got a driving without a license citation and then had to rush to student center to get a replacement Student ID so I could scan into the testing center and not have to email my professor to try to get a new testing time.

I (21F) am addicted to vaping, yes I know it’s horrible for you but I can’t help it. I work on a smoke free campus so I don’t do it outside or out in the open, instead I do it in the bathroom when there’s nobody else in there. Or if I absolutely need to, I do it when I flush the toilet to muffle the hitting sound of it. Today I didn’t see anyone else in the bathroom so I hit my vape once in dead silence before noticing someone else was a few stalls down from me. I put it away, did my business, and headed out without hitting it again. I was a little nervous the person in the other stall was a higher up that was going to follow me out or something but didn’t worry too much about it. As a janitor my job is to take the trash out from underneath everyone’s desk in the cubicles. So about 15 minutes or so after I was in the bathroom, I was taking out the trash from underneath this one desk with nobody in it but the computer on. Upon a quick glimpse of the computer while walking past, it looked like someone was in the middle of writing an email and got up and walked away. As I was finishing up the garbage and heading out I couldn’t help but read the one sentence that was written, “In the west office bathroom, there was a young lady that appeared to be…” And it just abruptly ended there. That was the bathroom I was in. I immediately started internally panicking and didn’t hit my vape again until I got home. I don’t know what to do about it or what I could come up with when confronted cause I’m assuming I’m going to be confronted. Am I overthinking this whole thing? I don’t know.

TL;DR: I found out I was caught vaping by accidentally snooping

This happened on a family vacation, and I can confidently say that I am no longer the family member anyone trusts around alcohol, hot sauce, or basic hygiene. For context, there were 23 people on this vacation. Twenty-three. An entire audience. And unfortunately for me, I gave them a story they'll probably be telling at my funeral.

It started when I got my cousin absolutely hammered in front of the entire family. I'm not going to pretend I was innocent here. I thought it was hilarious at the time, and he was definitely not thrilled about being the entertainment for the evening. Naturally, he decided revenge was in order. And because we're apparently a family of people who make terrible decisions, his revenge involved finding the hottest hot sauce he could get his hands on.

He convinced me to try some. Now, I'm not completely stupid. I didn't take a giant spoonful like some kind of competitive idiot. I put a tiny dab on my finger. A tiny dab. Then I touched it to my mouth, and my entire face immediately began filing a formal complaint with the rest of my body.

My mouth was on fire. My eyes were watering. I was questioning every decision that had led me to that exact moment. My cousin, meanwhile, was enjoying the kind of happiness usually reserved for lottery winners and cartoon villains. Eventually, I managed to wash my hands. Or at least, I thought I did. I washed them thoroughly enough that I felt comfortable going to the bathroom.

This was my second mistake. The first was being born into a family that thinks revenge is a recreational activity. I'll spare you the unnecessary details, but I soon discovered that capsaicin—the chemical that makes hot peppers spicy—doesn't care how carefully you washed your hands. Apparently, all it takes is one microscopic remnant of hot sauce to turn a routine bathroom trip into a life-altering event.

Within seconds, I was experiencing a level of regret that no amount of personal growth could ever fix. My mouth had been bad. My dick was worse. I went from a functioning adult male to a panicked Victorian child in approximately three seconds.

I needed water. Immediately. Not a cold shower. Not a bathtub. I needed industrial-grade intervention. So I did what any rational person would do when faced with a situation that had gone catastrophically beyond their ability to handle it. I ran outside.

Half-dressed, panicking, and moving with the urgency of a man who had just received a terminal diagnosis, I sprinted across the yard toward the nearest water hose. There were 23 people on this vacation. I would like to emphasize that number again because, at this point, it becomes extremely relevant.

I grabbed the hose, turned the water on full blast, and immediately began attempting to wash the problem away. Now, in my defense, I wasn't thinking clearly. My brain had essentially evacuated the premises. All I knew was that I needed water, and I needed it about five minutes ago. So there I was, standing in the yard, desperately spraying myself with a garden hose like a dog that had rolled in something unspeakable.

And naturally, this was the exact moment my family decided to investigate the commotion. My uncle came outside first. Then my aunt. Then two cousins. Then, because apparently word travels faster than emergency services in a family of 23 people, practically everyone else followed.

I turned around and made eye contact with my cousin. The same cousin I'd gotten drunk earlier. The same cousin who had introduced me to the hot sauce. He took one look at me, looked at the hose, looked back at me, and absolutely lost it. Not a polite chuckle. Not a little laugh. He folded. He was bent over, wheezing, holding his stomach, making noises that suggested he was about to require medical assistance himself.

And then he managed to get out four words that changed my life forever: "BRO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I would have answered him, but unfortunately, I was busy trying to pressure-wash my own dignity off in front of three generations of relatives.

My grandmother was standing on the porch asking if I was okay. My mother was yelling at me to turn the hose off. My uncle had pulled out his phone. Of course he had. Because why would you help a family member during his darkest hour when you could instead create a permanent visual record of it?

I screamed something along the lines of, "THE HOT SAUCE! IT'S EVERYWHERE!" Which, in hindsight, was not the most reassuring explanation I could have offered. My aunt immediately covered her mouth. My younger cousins started laughing so hard that one of them actually sat down on the grass. My grandmother, bless her heart, just shook her head and said, "That's what happens when you play stupid games."

Honestly, fair enough. I had no argument. I was standing in the backyard holding a garden hose like a man trying to extinguish a fire that existed exclusively in his worst decisions.

Eventually, someone had the bright idea to bring me some mild soap and a towel. I turned off the hose, wrapped myself in a towel, and retreated indoors with whatever remained of my self-respect. The burning eventually subsided, but the damage to my reputation was permanent.

Dinner that night was an absolute nightmare. Nobody could look at me without laughing. Every time someone passed me a bottle of water, my cousin would whisper, "Careful, bro. That's for drinking." When my uncle asked if anyone needed anything from the store, another cousin shouted, "GET HIM SOME BABY WIPES!"

My mother refused to make eye contact with me for the better part of two hours, and my grandmother, who had witnessed everything from the porch, kept offering me increasingly irrelevant medical advice. "Have you tried yogurt?" "Maybe you should eat some bread." "Next time, don't touch things you don't understand."

There wasn't going to be a next time. I was done with hot sauce. I was done with revenge. I was done with anything that came in a bottle without a clearly printed warning label. But my cousin wasn't done. For the rest of the vacation, he referred to me exclusively as The Garden Hose Incident.

And the worst part? He had the audacity to act like he'd won. Technically, he had. I had gotten him drunk in front of the family, and he'd retaliated by turning me into a cautionary tale about handwashing and consequences. It was a fair exchange, if you ignored the fact that one of us had spent the evening laughing and the other had nearly drowned his own genitals in municipal water.

Three months later, the family group chat is still not safe. Someone will send a picture of a bottle of hot sauce, and suddenly there are 47 laughing emojis. Someone will mention watering the lawn, and my uncle will send a picture of a garden hose.

Last week, my grandmother mailed me a care package containing soap, aloe vera, and a handwritten note that said, "For next time. Please don't let there be a next time."

I haven't lived it down. I probably never will. And if there's one lesson I've learned from this entire experience, it's that revenge is a dish best served cold. Because if it's served hot, wash your hands properly, keep them away from your downstairs equipment, and for the love of God, make sure you know where the garden hose is before you need it.

TL;DR: I got my cousin drunk in front of our family, so he retaliated by convincing me to try extremely hot sauce. I washed my hands, went to the bathroom, and discovered the hard way that I hadn't washed them well enough. In a moment of absolute panic, I ran outside and used a garden hose to relieve the burning, only for all 23 family members to witness the entire incident. Three months later, I'm still known as "The Garden Hose Incident," and my grandmother has started mailing me hygiene supplies.

​So, this happened a few days ago while we were testing a brand-new track we’ve been working on called “End Me”. Fitting name, as it turns out.

​I am an independent musician, and we spent weeks dialling in the mix. Naturally, you want to test how the low-end translates across different setups before a release. Big mistake. Huge mistake...🥲

We fired up the track on a set of studio monitors first. Sounded huge, chests rattling, total banger. Then we wanted to test it on a larger PA/club-style setup..

Within literally ten seconds of dropping the beat, we noticed a weird burning smell. Before we could even dive for the master volume, pop. Speaker one was dead. Voice coil completely fried, membrane shredded🥲🫡

We were baffled. "Must have been an old system," we told ourselves👌

​So we moved to setup number two—a completely different, high-end system belonging to a buddy. We wanted to double-check if it was just a fluke. Guess what? Pop. Speaker two bites the dust. At this point, smoke is literally coming out of the port. I am standing there questioning all my life choices☠️🤯

Instead of stopping like a sane human being, my brain went: "No, wait, third time's the charm, we just need to verify the sub-bass curve one last time."💯😁

Setup number three. A solid mobile rig. We hit play. It lasted about five seconds. The membrane made a sound like a wet cardboard box tearing in half, and system number three went completely silent. Three innocent sound systems, sacrificed to the gods of uncontained infrasonic frequencies.

Turns out, we had completely neglected a steep high-pass filter. Frequencies way down below 30 Hz—pure, unadulterated tectonic plate movement that human ears can't even really hear—were pumping full power and turning the speakers into mechanical maracas until they tore themselves apart..

Learned my lesson the hard way. The track is now properly tamed with a low-cut, but my wallet and my friends are never letting me near their gear again🥲🫡

TL;DR: Forgot to put a high-pass filter on a heavy sub-bass track, treated 3 sound systems like garbage disposals, and now my new song is officially a hardware hazard.

​(Edit: For anyone curious about the audio weapon of mass destruction that caused this, it's linked in my profile/bio — play at your own risk. 🔊)