You may be familiar with the r/TIFU community on Reddit. If not, allow me to explain using minimal cursing: It's a place where people share their stories of how they "messed up" today. Many of these stories are so wild, I can't believe they (allegedly, after all this is the internet) actually happened to people. Here are some of the best ones:
1. The story of the guy who tried — and failed — to sneakily dispose of a steak:
"Last night, my wife's boss from her brand-new job invited us over for dinner. On the drive over, my wife reiterated many times to me just how important it was to make a good impression.
I scoffed and arrogantly informed my silly wife that I always make good impressions.
My wife's boss is a single lady in her 50s, so it was just the three of us. We chitchatted over drinks and salads and seemed to really be hitting it off. She laughed at my well-timed, perfectly-appropriate jokes, and my wife seemed pleased.
Soon, she brought out the main course, a nice big juicy steak for each of us. As I began to cut into my steak, I was discouraged to discover how undercooked this steak was.
Now, I've had my fair share of rare steak. I prefer medium, but I can handle rare. This was several-minutes-on-a-hot-grill short of rare. I probably could've resuscitated the cow had I tried. Instead, I sat there fidgeting with my knife and fork, worrying about how I was going to get away with not eating this steak.
Claim vegan-ism? No, I'd already feigned great enthusiasm upon seeing the steak.
Just then, our hostess excused herself to the kitchen to take care of some dessert preparations. As I looked across the fancy dining room table at the open window of this third-story apartment...a cartoon lightbulb appeared over my head.
I knew I had to be decisive, realizing she could return at any moment. I committed. I grabbed the steak with my hand, gently shook off the juice, and executed a perfect throw right through the center of the open window.
Here's the big-time FU. The window wasn't open. It was the cleanest fricking window you've ever seen in your life. That is, until my mostly raw slab of steak slammed up against it and slowly slid down leaving a trail of bloody juice in its wake.
My wife — whose steak was a nice medium rare and was unaware of my predicament — turned, jaw dropped, and stared at me like I was an alien from another planet. This look then slowly morphed into more of a there-is-no-place-on-this-planet-you-can-ever-hide-from-me expression of demonic anger.
My wife's boss heard the thud of the steak-on-window impact and came quickly. She took in the scene, the steak sitting on the window sill, the blood trail, my empty plate, and then gave me an inquisitive, puzzled look.
I just didn't know what to say. It felt like a minute of silence, but was probably three or four seconds. Finally, the best I could manage was 'I...I'm so sorry. I am such a klutz... I don't know... I was just cutting it, and it slipped. Just ask my wife, I really am a klutz. Right, honey? (No help coming from that direction.) I will clean this up. I can't believe this... I am so sorry.' Etc.
Both women continued to stare at me like I had escaped from the loony bin, as I smeared the blood around the window with my cloth napkin, dusted off the steak, and continued to mutter my incoherent explanation. I knew no one was buying the story.
I knew what I had to do. I sheepishly returned to my seat and proceeded to eat every bite of that disgusting, cold, chewy, bloody, raw steak.
I remained pretty quiet the rest of the evening. My wife's only two words to me since the incident have been 'I'm fine.'
TL;DR: Tried to sneakily throw my under-cooked steak through an open window...only to find out it wasn't open.
Update: Just got the first post-'I'm fine' communication from my wife, via text, who is at work...
'Good news, [boss' name] and I just had a good laugh over how much of a fucking idiot u are. I hope u know u will never live this down. Love u, you moron.'"
2. The story of the guy who picked perhaps the world's worst song for a sexy-time playlist:
"A little backstory; when I first started having sex, I researched ways to be better, as I was a little stiff and pretty much had no idea what I was doing. I read online that you can play music and match the rhythm to put on a better performance.
I searched for love-making songs and started slowly creating a playlist in which I was comfortable matching the rhythm.
There are a few songs on my playlist. However, there is one song in particular, which actually happens to be my favorite, that my girlfriend hates and says turns her off in a major way.
I don’t understand why it has taken her two years to tell me she hates that song, it’s a good love-making song with good rhythm. I feel the way I fucked up is I could have possibly asked her previously if she likes the playlist or any songs she’d like to add/change. But to leave it for two years thinking our sex life is great but in her eyes has just been ruined by my music has left the whole situation feeling awkward, and I’m a bit annoyed.
I pretty much played this tune every single time so the amount of times she must have not been enjoying it, when I thought the complete opposite is annoying but also embarrassing.
Not to mention my previous partners, however they never complained about the song, so maybe it’s just her?
It’s fucked up the relationship TBH because sex feels awkward now. The other day, we were having sex with no music, but I was still thrusting to the tune playing in my head. She recognized this and asked me to stop.
I thought this song was perfect, and I always thrust along with the tune and feel it gives me the perfect rhythm for doing the deed. I usually bust to this song and find it devastating that she hates the song.
TL;DR She hates my love-making tunes and didn’t tell me for over two years, making sex now awkward."
If you've never heard the song before, here it is. I promise it's even less sexy than you're imagining.
View this video on YouTube
3. The story of the person who couldn't stop making their poor dentist uncomfy:
"I can never go back to my new dentist after two visits because I'm an idiot.
My dentist is a very nice and professional man. Our first appointment was going pretty smoothly until he made some innocuous remark about us 'being strangers.' My immediate reply was, 'Oh, you're not a stranger! You've been inside of my mouth for 20 minutes!' I did NOT intend to make a sexual joke. His face turned red, and he was clearly embarrassed, but he continued on like a true professional, and we were probably both relieved when the appointment was over.
I had my second dentist appointment today. I actually mentally prepared myself to be a model patient who didn't say anything weird, thank you very much. He had been working in my mouth for about five minutes when he started to seem really uncomfortable or something. His face was red, and he was breathing a little heavier. I was a bit concerned and also confused. Like how could I have embarrassed him this time? I had hardly spoken! So he keeps working in there, and then I realize what the hell is happening. My dentist was wearing grape-flavored gloves. I had been absentmindedly licking his fingers the whole time.
Never going back.
TL;DR Today I fucked up by licking my dentist."
4. The story of the person who lived in a dark room for six years:
"The overhead fan in our bedroom uses one of those compact halogen lightbulbs.
Six years ago, the bulb burned out and got really dim, just barely a glow. I bought a replacement bulb, but when I put that one in, it was also barely lighting up so I realized the unit was bad.
The fan still worked GREAT, it literally is the best fan I’ve ever had because it moves a ton of air and is super quiet. The fan had also been a gift when we moved into our house, the unit cost over $400 so I didn’t really want to replace it even though our bedroom doesn’t get much natural light so it is pretty dark.
So since then, over the years my wife and I have had to make do with no overhead light. We open the windows during the day, and at night use a combination of bedside lamps and the bathroom light. It’s never really as good of lighting as an overhead lamp so I keep some flashlights up there for when we are cleaning or looking for something, etc.
After six years of living in the dark, this winter I just decided I would replace the damn thing. But before I did, I decided to try one last time with another bulb because, however unlikely, it’s possible BOTH bulbs I had tried were bad.
So I’m up there installing the new bulb, grab the remote (the fan has a remote), and as I’m turning the light on, I realize:
The goddamn thing is dimmable.
For six fucking years we lived with the inconvenience of no overhead light, and the whole time it was just because the damn thing was set to 'dim.'
TL;DR
For six years I lived with no bedroom light because the overhead lamp was broken, but turns out it was fine, and it was just set to a dim setting the whole time."
5. The story of the person who "saved" someone who clearly did not need saving:
"I’m couch-surfing with my sister and her BF; I work for him at the lakeside bar, trying to pay for college. I take a run by the lake in the mornings. This lake is bomb-ass and draws scuba divers to the flooded town at the bottom.
Today, I was in my own head running when a dark mass floated to the surface 40 feet away. I was on the craggy side of the lake, and this dude looked dead. D.E.A.D. [He was] facing away from me, his head was tipped back, eyes closed, bobbing like a fishing lure. No one else was around, so I thought he was scuba diving alone at the crack-ass of dawn, giving himself the bends or some nonsense.
Like a jackass, I didn’t yell at him to check in. Instead, I toed off my shoes and stripped to my skivvies to save the imbecile. The movie trailer in my head had me taking three glorious steps and launching into the deep blue water, Black Widow style. Instead, my tender feet hit the sharp rocks and I contorted under the pain like a slinky as I uncoordinatedly pitched myself into the water, doing a side-flop. I was also wearing my contacts so I swam hard in his direction with my eyes closed.
When I opened them, he was dead-ass staring at me like I’d lost my ever-lovin’ mind, so I blurted, 'Are you okay?'
He removed the regulator and incredulously said, 'Yes.'
My brain blue-screened while I tread water. The lake felt infinitely deep. Before I could terrify myself by hearing the Jaws theme song, I turned to nope the hell out of there, yelling over my shoulder, 'I thought you needed saving' to explain my idiocy.
As I pivoted, another dude cleared his throat from 30 feet away on the other side. I never heard a sound from him so I freaked out, failing and belting an ear-wounding scream at him.
Both asshats laughed as a few more heads surfaced around us. I was surrounded by divers all wildly entertained by my ridiculous high-octane FU. After pointing to me and the beach, the merman that was my original target cautiously swam toward me after I nodded and 'escorted' me to the shore.
The beach was much further than I had anticipated, so I was trying to low-key breathe, hiding my need to suck all of the O2 from the air. He quietly mocked me the rest of the way to the shore. I’m a secret sap for it.
They were cadets or recent graduates from a military college, here for the summer. They’d been training in pools and were doing some 'open water' exercises; they had been out there at least part of the night. I’m sure I blew up whatever drill they were running.
At the shore, I did my best to throw my shoulders back and march out of the water in my sports bra and undies in front of what I can only imagine are some pretty badass men. I did invite him and his clandestine crew for an absurdly overpriced beer at the bar tonight before shame-jogging back into the woods for my clothes.
TL;DR I tried to save an injured diver, but ended up crashing some kind of military training."
6. The story of the dad who accidentally took away a Game Boy for *checks notes* 18 years:
"My son was not doing his homework so I confiscated his Game Boy Advance. I told him he would get it back next week.
Well, he’s a pretty clever dude and knew all my hiding places, so I put it someplace he would never look.
Except I suffered a traumatic brain injury a few years earlier and I forget stuff. So when he did his homework and asked for it back after a week, I...could not find it. Aargh. I looked everywhere.
Narrator: Obviously not everywhere...
Then we moved house. And I still didn’t find it.
SpongeBob: '18 YEARS LATER...'
I was donating some coats I had not worn in a long time. And in the pocket of a Viennese trench coat from the 1930s, I found...his Game Boy Advance. And turned it on. And it WORKED. Pokémon appeared.
I put fresh batteries into it and handed it to my 28-year-old son. Who proceeded to laugh for a good five minutes. Then played it for a few hours. Then proceeded to tell my wife and other adult children how silly I was."
7. The story of the person who thought they were getting a compliment on the wrong ring:
"Obligatory this happened a couple of days ago, but I’ve only just psychologically recovered from my utter embarrassment.
So, there’s been a huge sale at my local laser hair removal clinic, and so I thought I might as well go for it. I paid for my 10 visits and set off for the first one, a little nervous but excited for my new, hairless body. I decided it would be a great idea to get a full Brazilian, allll the way from front to back. Pretty normal, right?
The lovely nurse comes in and gives me a brief heads-up, and explains how it all works. She leaves the room, leaving me to strip down. She comes back in, and decides that we are going to laser away the hair around my a**hole first. All well and good right?
The instructions I’m given are 'lay on your right side, and use your left hand to pull up your bum cheek.'
So here I am, lying on my side, hand pulling up my bum while this lady sticks a laser around my a**hole. Now, on my left hand, I wear this gorgeous silver ring with a bright blue gem; it was handmade by my best friend's boyfriend so it’s pretty unique.
This lady saw my gorgeous ring, and decided to break the awkward silence with a, 'That’s a cute ring you have there.'
And of course, I happened to forget I was wearing the damn ring. It just made sense in my head that this nurse was complimenting the ring of my a**hole. Yeah. I know.
So, still on my side, I tell her 'Thank you! It’ll be a lot nicer when it’s hairless, LOL.'
Cue awkward laugh and then silence, until I realized that she was not, in fact, talking about my bum. Finished the rest of the appointment without speaking and dashed out of there as soon as possible. Still recovering."
8. The story of the person who absolutely made their dog's whole week:
"Let me start by saying it's important to note that whenever I cook hot dogs, I slice the package, take out a few, roll the rest back up in the plastic packaging, and fasten it all with some good old-fashioned elastic bands.
Today. I did not.
I couldn't tell you why my dumb ass decided to just fold the plastic over a few times and place it back on the shelf, but here we are.
So my spouse comes running down in their few minutes between endless meetings to make their lunch quickly. We are the only two in our house, plus our little rescue dog who was a stray and an absolute MOOCH.
I mean, this dog will weave between your feet, eyes GLUED to the floor hoping for even a single speck of crumb.
So we're all in the kitchen, I hear the fridge open, and it suddenly dawns on me in horror that my spouse is MOST DEFINITELY going to go for those hot dogs I wrapped like a dumbass.
I quickly turn around to say something, and my spouse in slow motion, wide-eyed, stares at me as the hot dog package unrolls like a Fruit by the Foot commercial and DOUSES my dog's entire skull in a too-much-to-be-reasonable-in-one-package amount of hot dog water.
My dog lost his SHIT.
Like a Christian grandma witnessing the second coming of Christ, my dog just tears across the entire apartment with the worst case of the zoomies I think we've ever seen him have.
He proceeds to spend the next 15 minutes singing our praises as the greatest humans alive as he rolls across every piece of furniture we own.
I'm talking every. Piece. Of. Furniture.
Now, I don't hate hot dogs, but the smell is weirdly overpowering, and every time I sit down on something else, all I can smell is godforsaken hot dogs.
My dog loves it, though. And now I'm figuring out how to shampoo out hot dog water from my life. I have so many regrets.
TLDR: My dumb ass didn't seal a package of hot dogs properly, and my spouse accidentally dumped hot dog water all over my dog's head, and now I'm living in a hot-dog-smelling hellhole because my dog decided to excitedly roll on EVERYTHING we own. But at least he's having the best damn day of his life because of it. I probably hate hot dogs now."
9. The story of the girl who smacked a man with a sandwich:
"My friend Jenna moved into a nice, new condo last month, and I finally got a chance to check it out for the first time today. I ended up arriving before she got home from work, so she told me to let myself in with the spare key under the potted plant and to make myself comfortable.
I made myself a sandwich and was meandering around eating and checking out her swanky new place when the front door opened, and a really large and unfamiliar man with a duffel bag came in. Dude was intimidating, and I'm a 4'11" woman, so I was immediately scared. He looked shocked to see me. I'm looking at his duffel bag and realizing that I surprised some piece of shit burglar!
I panicked and threw my sandwich at his face and then locked myself in the bedroom. I'm shaking, and he pounds on the door yelling at me to get the fuck out. I start screaming at HIM to get the fuck out and that I'm calling the police (total bluff because I didn't have my phone). He then yells back that HE is calling the police on ME. This gives me pause. At this point, I look around and realize the bedroom I'm in definitely appears to be of the male persuasion. I ask him through the door if he knows Jenna (last name). He tells me yes, she is his next-door neighbor. WELL. Apparently, Jenna's neighbor ALSO keeps a spare key under a potted plant.
So, today I fucked up by letting myself into my friend's neighbor's place, smacking him in the face with his own sandwich, and then screaming at him to get the fuck out of his house."
10. The story of the spouse who didn't quiiiiiiite pick up on their wife's innuendo:
"The other night, my wife and I were getting ready for bed and being kind of flirty. I had to use the restroom, so stayed downstairs while she went up to bed. While I was sitting on the toilet, I got a text: 'Bring a bucket and a mop.'
Crap, one of my kids must have thrown up. I finished my toilet biz and went down to the basement to check the cleaning supplies. I found a bucket, but couldn't find a mop. I found one of those squeezy sponge things, but the sponge was missing. Figuring the vomit was probably congealing by this point, I just grabbed the bucket and a bunch of paper towels and ran upstairs.
I got to the upstairs bathroom and found no mess. I carried the cleaning supplies down to my kids' rooms but found no vomit. I went to our bedroom and found my wife lying on the bed. She asked what had taken me so long, and I said I couldn't find a mop, and where was the mess?
She started rolling around on the bed laughing. Suddenly I realized 'Bring a bucket and a mop' was a line from 'WAP (Wet Ass Pussy).' My wife had been in the mood, and I had spent 15 minutes looking for a mop in the basement.
She was laughing so much that the mood was basically dead.
TL;DR: My wife texted me a line from a Cardi B song to tell me she was in the mood. I thought she wanted me to bring cleaning supplies because a kid threw up."
11. The story of the guy who tried to be an ally:
"I (29m) was waiting for my order in the local coffee shop. Also in the store waiting for orders was a girl who looked around my age and a guy who seemed to be a bit older (35–45). I noticed the guy was talking the girl’s ear off, and she didn’t seem very interested in the conversation. Next thing I notice, she’s approaching me saying 'Brian?'
My name isn’t Brian, but before I could correct her, I remembered reading something online that said 'If a girl ever pretends to know you, play along, she might be in trouble.' So I played along and started having a friendly chat with her as if I knew her. Well, not long into the conversation, she looks at me and goes, 'Wait, you’re not Brian.' To which I respond, 'I know, I thought we were doing a thing.' Then a bit louder and annoyed, she says, 'Why would you pretend to be someone I know?!' Now the guy she was with before comes over and asks if everything is alright.
Knowing I had fucked up, I just told them honestly what I was doing. Turns out he was her boyfriend, and he was talking about fantasy baseball, that’s why she was so disinterested. She found it funny and thanked me even though I read the situation wrong. He was kinda offended but understood. I have never been more embarrassed."
12. The story of the person who bought DNA kits for the whole family, only to have it cause a big kerfuffle on Christmas:
"Earlier this year, AncestryDNA had a sale on their kit. I thought it would be a great gift idea so I bought six of them for Christmas presents. Today my family got together to exchange presents for our Christmas Eve tradition, and I gave my mom, dad, brother, and two sisters each a kit.
As soon as everyone opened their gift at the same time, my mom started freaking out. She told us how she didn’t want us taking them because they had unsafe chemicals. We explained to her that there were actually no chemicals, but we could tell she was still flustered. Later, she started trying to convince us that only one of us kids needed to take it since we would all have the same results and to resell extra kits to save money.
Fast-forward: Our parents have been fighting upstairs for the past hour, and we are downstairs trying to figure out who has a different dad.
TL;DR I bought everyone in my family an AncestryDNA kit for Christmas. My mom started freaking out. Now our parents are fighting, and my dad might not be my dad.
Update: Thank you so much for all the love and support. My sisters, brother, and I have not yet decided if we are going to take the test. No matter what the results are, we will still love each other and our parents no matter what.
Update 2: CHRISTMAS ISN’T RUINED! My FU actually turned into a Christmas miracle. Turns out my sister's father passed away shortly after she was born. A good friend of my mom's was able to help her through the darkest time in her life, and they went on to fall in love and create the rest of our family. They never told us because of how hard it was for my mom. Last night, she was strong enough to share stories and photos with us for the first time, and it truly brought us even closer together as a family. This is a Christmas we will never forget. And yes, we are all excited to get our test results. Merry Christmas everyone!"
13. And finally, the epic and hilarious story of the guy who got wayyyyyyy too high before having dinner with his in-laws:
"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 wimp to buy illegal drugs regularly — 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 kid in a candy store, and request an eighth ounce of about seven 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.
It was at this dispensary that I also learned that you can't actually smoke in public places (including the hotel where my wife and I were staying). 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 drugs 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 fuck, 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 who 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.
About 30 minutes later, we are in the backseat of her parents' rental car on the way to dinner. 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 piss 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 halfway 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.
Smart man.
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 fucking minutes ago.'
And at that exchange, my wife loses her cool. 'HOW MANY COOKIES DID YOU EAT?!' she demands.
'I had a few cookies, but keep it down. I don't want your parents to know how fucked 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.
At that point, my wife's singular focus was on getting me out of the restaurant before I either puked all over the table or pissed myself (or an unsightly combination of both). So after a few awkward, two-handed waves 'goodbye' to my in-laws, she rushed me to the door like a Secret Service agent evacuating the president.
My night after that was a whirlwind of barfing and groveling, mixed with a few vain attempts at 'getting handsy' back in the hotel room. But being the absolutely awesome sweetie that she is, my wife stuck with me through the whole nightmare, whispering over and over in my ear: 'Please don't die, we have a mortgage.'
TL;DR: Ate way too many edibles on a trip and wigged out during a dinner with my wife and her parents."