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This is a question We have to talk

Conversations that start, "We have to talk..." are never good.

Tell us about the ones you've been trapped in.

(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 9:34)
Pages: Latest, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, ... 1

This question is now closed.

They fuck me up, his mum and dad...
I'd been going out with my then boyfriend for nearly a year. Two days after both going out to Israel to start our gap year studies (about 200 metres away from each other) he calls me up and gives me the 'we need to talk' line.

My heart immediately sinks and my stomach starts to get the 'kicked in with hobnailed boots' feeling. We meet up.

He's nervous and on edge, and so am I. We get shit pizza that tastes of cardboard and then we talk. He starts saying that he thinks we should break up. I ask why. He gives me a reason that doesn't really makes sense. I tell him why it doesn't make sense. He agrees, and gives me another reason that doesn't make sense. I tell him that one doesn't really work either. He agrees, and it continues in this vein through several more reasons. I decide it's all getting a bit odd.

"Look, you keep giving me all these reasons, but none of them make any sense, they don't stand up to argument, and they don't sound like the real reasons for anything! You haven't actually told me WHY you want to break up. You haven't said anything about how you feel - if you don't think it's working, or if you don't love me, or..."

At this point he breaks down and in a sort of flood of guilt and released pressure he says that actually his parents had been nagging him for months to break up with me. Recently they'd upped the pressure and that the reasons he'd given were arguments they'd used for us breaking up, which was mainly why they were unconvincing and why he was unable to support them himself.

I was slightly shell-shocked.

"But...what do you want?"
"...I want to marry you."

It was at this point that we decided to tell his parents we'd broken up to get them off his back, but keep on going out regardless. Then realising that other people we knew also existed and would report conflicting stories to his parents, we pretended to all the English people that we'd broken up, and carried on in secret 'cloak and dagger style', abandoning the whole charade several months later and just forgetting to care about whether they knew or not.

The wedding's on the 1st of July.

Click 'I like This' if you think I should reject all attempts of his mother to try and be 'chummy' and 'my friend' and make out that she's really always on my side and just like us 'young people'.
(, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 0:51, Reply)
This tale is about an old mate I used to work with. Mike.

Mike was a strange chap. For one, he didn't drink. Just didn't like the effect of alcohol. But he was also one of the funniest people I knew. He had a mind like a cork-screw - odd and twisted.

He used to live together with a lovely girl called Becks (at least I think that was her name - I'm crap at remembering peoples names). Becks was a great lass, but a bit dippy. She loved going out clubbing and dancing and, most of the time, she went without Mike as clubs bored him stupid.

So this one night Mike was fast asleep in bed when Becks came in at about 3am. She switched the light on and sat cross-legged on the bed.

"Mike...." she shook him awake "Mike - we really have to talk. I need to talk to you Mike"

So Mike surfaced out of the depths of sleep and sat upright. Becks wanted to talk? In the middle of the night? What was wrong? Had she found somebody else? Was this the "I love you but...." talk that everyone in a relationship dreads?

So Mike sat there and looked at Becks.

"OK love - what do you want to talk about?"

"Ooooh - I don't know. You pick a subject!!" she drunkenly giggled...


(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 12:04, Reply)
My Dad
and I never really had the 'father-son talks.'

When I first having sex, and my mother decided that we should have 'the talk' it went something like this...

Dad: Son-
MrTeapot: Dad, I know what your going to say, can we pretend like it we've already discussed this?
Dad: Works for me.
(, Sat 21 Apr 2007, 2:15, Reply)
Prominent memories
The first time was when my mother discovered a heap of stiff and spackled socks under my bed alongside a gentleman's magazine featuring explicit material. That wasn't her concern, however. What perturbed her more was that I had made 'underwear' for the naked ladies from pieces of coloured paper so that I could derive more enjoyment by undressing them myself. On that occasion, she suggested a psychiatrist.

The next occasion was when a famiy friend reported to her that I had been spotted in the local woods crouching in a bush in a camouflage jacket with my face made up in camo-paint and clutching a Rambo knife (the one with the compass and sewing kit in the handle and a jagged upper edge). She thought I was going to grow up to be a serial killer and suggested that I see a psychiatrist.

The final occasion was when my dad asked me if I was gay because I seemed to be spending a lot of time reading books at home. I was revising for my A levels. He gave me money and told me to get down the pub to find a woman to "look after me". I spent the money on more coloured paper for porn underwear and a sharpening stone for my Rambo knife.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 12:17, Reply)
My twunt of an ex
who I have touched on in previous QOTWs, holds the record for this.

Picture the scene: I was out wandering around town on my own, minding my own business, and I spy boyfriend a few feet away.

Boyfriend is with a woman a couple of years older than me. Boyfriend has a little girl who is the image of him sat in his arms. Boyfriend catches sight of me, and the look on his face said something like "Oh cock."*

So, not wanting to fight in the middle of the street with a bunch of chavs egging me on, I go home and send him a text saying "So, the child." He agrees to come and talk about it, and the gist of the conversation is something like "I like to keep my private life private. So, sex."

Click "I like this" if you think I should have spanged him.

*Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary my ex is not James May.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 17:54, Reply)
To be Frank
"We have to talk" is just the kind of inane Americanism that has sullied the English language in the last few years (sorry, Americans). I despise such empty linguistic emulations as "You do the math" or "Too much information!" or "You're funny!" or anything else from American TV sit-coms and pulp culture.

So, no, it doesn't make you sound cool or witty or intelligent when you say such things. It makes you sound like a moron who apes what they hear on TV as a monkey sniffs its own arse for novelty value. When I hear someone say "We have to talk," I know a number of things about that person:

1) They are not my friend or anyone I would like to know.
2) Their imagination does not stretch beyond what they see on TV or hear in the pub.
3) Their linguistic breadth stops at Heat magazine and anything on daytime TV.
4) Their overblown opinion of themself is such that they have to preface a conventional sentence with that nugget of pompous shite.

When you want to talk to someone, talk to them. You wouldn't go into a shop and say, "I have to buy something" before paying for it. For fuck's sake - am I alone in this?
(, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 19:20, Reply)
The talk
Gah, why is it that when I'm fresh from the gym, sat on the sofa with a beer and watching the documentary on Spitfires I've been looking forward to all week, the female in my life decides that this is the appropriate time for "the talk". These two words cover any subject from her immediate intention to spawn a brood of children to the typical "where are we going as a couple?" discussion.

The teeth gnashingly annoying thing about this is that there is no swift conclusion to "the talk". I will be engaged in delicate negotiation for the next four hours, which probably will involve some or all of my half-interested responses being misconstrued and will definitely involve tears and shouting of some description. It matters not a jot that I might genuinely love the person I'm sat next to. Oh no, my every word or even guttoral snort is dissected ad nauseum.

I have been in relationships where "the talk" has occurred every fucking time I've clicked on the Discovery/History channel and when my resolve has been weakened by a six minute mile having just been run.

It has NEVER taken place midway through Moulin Rouge, My Best Friends Wedding or The Sound of Fucking Music. Not once. I've sat there out of politeness with my will to exist ebbing from my soul, wishing for swift deliverance from the ceaseless effluvial deluge from the screen drowning my soul, to the point where I really do give a fuck about what names we might give the delinquent shits I'll be blackmailed into donating my genes to. At this point in time "the talk" would actually be a weclome diversion. But no dice.

"The talk" always occurs when I am at my most vulnerable.

The response "fuck off, I want to watch the Spitfires" is so easily interpreted as "I cannot see a future for us, we both want such different things from life. By the way, you're fat".

I fail to understand why.
(, Sat 21 Apr 2007, 0:41, Reply)
I remember the first time one of my ex-girlfriends sprung the "We need to talk" line. You know that feeling guys? It's going well and you just shit yourself. Did she find out about your bit on the side? Did she find your porn stash? Did she see the light on the camera you set up last week to film yourself bumming her? Your thoughts go about 100 miles per hour, wondering what the fuck she's gonna say.

"What is it?" I ask sweetly, trying to mask the 'Oh fucks!' thoughts in my mind.

"I've seen you."

This line annoys me. 'I've seen you.' Have you? Really? So you're not fucking blind? Obviously I didn't say that - "What do you mean?"

"With Kristin."

Oh shit. The moment she says that, you're beginning to wonder to what extent she's seen you. Has she seen you flirting with her? Has she seen you having a look at her arse? Has she seen you hugging her a bit too closely? Has she seen you fucking the senses out of her? You could go with 'What did you see?', but that's suspicious. Instead I asked "Whatever do you mean?", perhaps too strained.

"On your phone."

Shit. The video!

"That video you took of you boning her while you were pissed a couple of weeks ago! Don't think I haven't seen it you deceitful fuck!"

I can't work my way out of this one, can I?

"Baby ..." I start, but as is the case, I'm cut off.

"Don't 'baby' me! I know the way everyone looks at her! With such affection! She's so likeable! I know how you think she's fit! I've seen you watching her arse, knowing how high it is!"

I'm lost for words. But that doesn't matter, because this teary wreck is still going!

"You want me to have an arse like hers? It's not even that nice, it's just high in the air and she shows it off! That's what you like, isn't it!" She's grabbing her arse now, pulling it up. "You like that, do you!?"

Oh dear.

"And you on the video, saying about how you love the shape of her nipples! What the fuck is wrong with mine?" She's got her tits out now, pinching and pulling at her nipples. "Like this? What about this? Do I need my nipples like this!?"

I just stand there, with my mouth hanging. What the fuck would you do?

"You like her black hair do you? You want me to dye mine black? BLACK LIKE YOUR HEART!?" she shrieks, her face red, puffy and wet with salty tears. "I can have black hair! I can be just like Kristin!"

I'm still speechless.

"You were saying that you loved that pussy!" she pulled her trousers and underwear down. The painters are in. It's horrible. "How do you want me to have my pussy? Hairy and horrible? Shaven and well-kept? You wanted me to be flexible and lick myself out?" She bends forward and comes back up, blood all over her mouth and cheeks. "How do you like that, you cunt!?"

"Baby ..." I say, going to place my hand on her shoulder. She just bats it off.

"Don't touch me!" she yells, blubbering. She stops, making those crying sounds you make, then looks up at me and yells again. "I'm leaving! It's over, you disgusting, cat-fucking freak!" She storms out.

I just stood silently, unaware of what to do, before, a few moments later, comes a gentle 'mew' from beside me. I look down to my black cat, who looks back up at me.

"You always make me feel better, Kristin." I say. What a fucking great pussy.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 19:21, Reply)
Classic "we need to talk" gag
He was in an odd mood Saturday night. We planned to meet at a pub for a drink. I spent the afternoon shopping with the girls and I thought it might have been my fault because I was a bit later than I promised, but he didn't say anything much about it. The conversation was very slow going so I thought we should go off somewhere more intimate so we could talk more privately. We went to this restaurant and he was STILL acting a bit funny.Tried to cheer him up and started to wonder whether it was me or something else. I asked him, and he said no. But I wasn't really sure. So anyway, in the car on the way back home, I said that I loved him deeply and he just put his arm around me.I didn't know what the hell that meant because you knowhe didn't say it back or anything, this is really worrying me. We finally got back home and I was wondering if he was going to leave me! So, saying "we need to talk" I tried to get him to engage with me but he just switched on the TV,and sat with a distant look in his eyes that seemed to say it's all over between us. Reluctantly, I said I was going to go to bed. Then after about 10 minutes, he joined me and to my surprise, he responded to my advances and we made love. But, he still seemed really distracted, so afterwards I just wanted to confront him but I just cried myself to sleep. I just don't know where I stand and I don't know what to do anymore. I mean, I really think he's seeing someone else and that my life is a disaster.

Hibs lost. Got a shag though.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 14:55, Reply)
Mincing my words
What I should have said:

We have to talk, I feel that we are not moving anywhere as a couple which is entirely my fault, I need time and space to sort my own life out before I can devote my life to you. We just met at the wrong time but there shall always be a corner of my heart which is forever yours.

what I wanted to say:

We need to talk. I'm fed up of your constant whinging and demands, you aint all that and I've lied whenever I said you are not fat. You are. And the only thing more hideous than your arse is your personality, chunkmeister.

What I ended up doing:

Being moody, uncommunicative and a general twunt until she said 'We need to talk'

Click I like this if you've done the same head in the sand trick
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 14:00, Reply)
me and my girlfriend never have 'talks'

as we believe that the most profound truths about human beings are best expressed through dance.

Although sometimes she gets a bit , and this makes me feel
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 10:35, Reply)
Guinness - My Arse !
One awful morning after consuming 18 pints of delicious Guinness, I was lying in bed with my girlfriend idley stroking the rigid, diabolcal quiver of my member.
She soon got out of bed and went to the bathroom, and I seized the moment of solitude to rid myself of the titanic fart i could feel brewing in my guts.
I arched my back, squeezed, and immediately recoiled in horror as 18 pints of dark black liquid faeces erupted from my poor unsuspecting sphincter all over my thighs and bedsheets.

Quickly jumping out of bed, tearing up the richly stained sheets and wiping myself 'clean', I just managed to ball up the evidence and pull the duvet over the bare mattress before she came back in the room.

I stuffed the Guinnessy shit-sheets behind an amplifier and showered away the shame.

Anyway....we had to go somewhere pretty smartish so thought I would take care of the accidental dirty protest when we got back.

Upon our return however, We were greeted by the sight of my dear old mum clutching a bucket full of cleaning products, with tears in her eyes.

"We have to talk..." she said

I assure you, Vanish Stain Sticks do NOT work.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 13:40, Reply)
me: a a working class lad from south london.
she: daughter of a swiss scientist nobel nominee who had bought her a house in west kensington.

woke up in morning with hangover after night out together:

her: we need to talk.
me: er, ok
her: you fell off the bed last night and proceeded to sleep on the floor.
me: er
her: i tried to help you back onto the bed saying "come on honey you need to get back into bed" and you swung at me and said "you're just so fucking posh!"

different classes
(, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 13:54, Reply)
This QOTW is a bit spooky as I bumped into the subject of it in Tesco's last night by the spuds and we can actually speak to each other now - how adult we are.

I'd been seeing this guy, Andy, for some time, but in the meantime one of my mates had fixed me up with list long-haired guy with a cute ass (just my type!) so I had to do the old We Have To Talk conversation with poor old Andy.

So we met up, me feeling really sorry for the guy and also terribly guilty, bought the drinks and we had the inevitable conversation. Andy says "NJ, can we please go outside? I need some fresh air". Methinks the guy's going to cry so I do the decent thing and follow him into the pub garden...where the B*stard pours his full pint of Murphys over my head!!! That's right, the Murphys I just crapping well bought for him! I swung for him, but sadly missed, while he went running off down the street laughing at me. I'm doing it over the telephone next time.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 12:02, Reply)
No other phrase strikes dread into the weary husband as much as "We need to talk" - because what it really means is:

"You have done something else wrong and now I'm going to explain to you why you are a loser and why I am going to get my way, like I always do - because if I can't win an argument with rational discussion and reasoned examples, I will win it with moody silences, emotional blackmail, crying and harbouring a grudge for months and months until you finally give in on this one trivial point that I have chosen to exaggerate beyond all proportion just because it's my right as a woman to do so."

So when I hear it, I just say "Yes, you're right" and the pain goes away until next time I take off my ankle chains and try to look at the sky.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 11:53, Reply)
It didn't exactly start with a 'we have to talk' but it was one of those conversations.
(A note for those seeking entertainment: If you can find it in the pain of others, look no further. Otherwise, you might be best skipping this one.)

Let me set the scene; Thursday last was my 18th birthday, and at this point I have been going out with my girlfriend since I was 15.

So it was the friday, and we've just come out of her best friends house (best friend backstory: he shares a birthday with me and they have been friends since they were less than a year old), and my dad is due to pick me up in about 2 minutes.

Thanks to my kean mans intuition I can tell my ladyfriend has been somewhat off with me for a while, so I ask "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," she replies. More information isn't very forthcoming, so I try again.
"Is it me?" I ask.
"Yes," she replies. Again, a distinct lack of clarification.
"What about me, exactly?" I ask.
"I don't want to say, I mean, it's just been your birthday." she answers.
"Yyeeesss... But, now you've said this much, if you don't tell me what I'll just be worrying over the worst, and, as you've just mentioned, it is my birthday, and I'd rather not have the worry." I say, rather eloquently, though I do say so myself.
"It's not that I don't love you, I just don't think I love you in the same way as I once did." she says. At this point we've pretty muched reached her front door, and my dad has just arrived to pick me up. Wonderful. Now, to be honest, I'm a bit shaken up at this point. It's not that I didn't realise things had been changing, it's more that if anyone had asked me, I would've told them that I thought the relationship was going to last at least until she started Uni, not this September but the September afterwards. Now I'm not even sure if we'll still be together at the end of the week. Whatever, the point is that I hugged her. She's about 5 foot nothing, and I'm just over 6 foot, and she was stood on her doorstep, giving her another few inches, so I just wrapped my arms around her, and held her tightly, and closely. During this hug, I have a supreme feeling of closeness, and oneness. Of content, and happyness, and all I want to do is hold on to her for the rest of my life. But my dad is there, and so we part.

That night, I slept at a friends house, and I didn't manage to get to sleep till around 4, and woke up at 7:20. I tell you this because of the significance of that 7:20. For me, going to sleep at 4 is nothing new, but I haven't woken up in the morning at 7:20 since I was in High School, and I haven't woken up at 7:20 on a saturday for probably more than a decade. Up until I fell asleep, and from the moment I woke up, the one thing in my head was my lady, our relationship, what I've been doing with her these last few years, how I've been treating her, etc, etc. This was particularly bad, becaue I was at a friends house. He, and a few other friends, were all lying between me and anything/anywhere else. If I'd been at home, I could've buried myself in a book and avoided reality that way. But no, I had to lay in a darkened front room, listening to a chorus of snores, and contemplating until someone woke up to talk to, a good three hours later. But I did manage to get a lot of thinking done.

Later on that day (yesterday, as I write this), I was having a barbecue to celebrate the aforementioned birthday. My lady came around, and when I had decided we had been social enough, I took her into the house and we sat on the stairs to talk. On the stairs the connection returns, and I am compelled to touch her face; she looks so perfect I can't resist, and I delicately stroke her cheek with the back of my hand... So soft. Some tears, expressed fears and reminiscence of the years later, she told me she thinks we should go on a break. I've never been a fan of breaks; I've always seen them as something created by the writers of Friends to entertain.

Naturally, I come up with a few viable alternatives; perhaps she'd see me less as a friend (she says she sees me as a friend) and more of a boyfriend if we spend less time acting as friends (say, playing computer games with each other, etc) and more time acting as boyfriend and girlfriend (say, by only seeing each other to go on dates, or when in the house together, talking more, as opposed to the games.), also, maybe if we started just seeing each other less, I mean currently we see each other 4 or 5 times a week, sometimes for pretty much all of the day at a time. Mayhap we should see each other just once or twice a week, and have a plan of what to do rather than just chilling out. She says she'll think about it.

I think I made considerable progress, that day. A few days back, even at the theatre on my birthday (aren't I posh), I'd place a hand on her bestokinged leg, and she's push it off, complaining of the tickling, and even for maybe a week or two, if we were to hold hands it was always because I had taken her hand in mine, but on saturday, as we sat around the bonfire and we whispered to each other of how sorry we were of the direction things were taking, she offered her hand to me, to hold.

Today, another day, another attempt to salvage my relationship, which has so suddenly (although, if I think about it, perhaps not so suddenly), started the process of being whipped away. I can't get through on the phone, so I log onto my instant messenger, and success! She is online. There follows an hour long conversation, where I tell her how the shock of possibly losing her has made me realise that in a way, I already have, and that that self same shock is what has rekindled the connection that I didn't realise was missing until it was back. I tell her I haven't been treating her as I should have been, and that I believe in our love for one another, and I believe we were meant to be. Too little, too late, it seems. By some cruel twist of fate our conversation is cut short as she finds her sister has been taken to hospital to be checked for appendicitis, and my lady is to go and visit her ill sister. On logging out of her instant messaging service, she tells me that if I still want to talk, I can text her, but there is a lot to think on, of how our relationship has been and how it will come to be.

Only one thing remains certain, it seems, and that is that no matter what happens now, we will remain friends.

Now ladies and gentleman, this story is drawing to a close, and I feel I must appologise for no exciting climax, and to this end I will, in the last sentence, make a small joke.

Until then, I ask only that you spare a thought for two young lovers, on the verge of losing what at least one of them believes to be true love. After writing this I will text her, but it is unlikely she will have an answer for me yet.

If this is the end, don't worry about me becoming an emo and sitting in the corner, slitting my wrists; I'm old enough now to realise that no matter how hard it seems, countless others have gone through this before me, and gotten over it. If it is to end, I will get over it. I just hope that it isn't the end.

For anyone interested in seeing an artists rendering of the lady in question; click here.

Length? She says that the connection may be gone, but the sensation is still amazing.

Edit: To everyone who's been gazzing me: Thank you all for your support in this difficult time in my life. Despite the fact I don't know who any of you are, I really appreciate the gesture.
(, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 18:44, Reply)
Birds, Bees and Father...
I'm 17 and going to a house party that night. It's the party of the year and everyone's going to be there inc. the girl I'd been foolin' around with the last few weeks. Just as I'm leaving I hear a shout from my Dads room...

"We need To Talk!"

I walk up the stairs dreading what is going to come of this "Talk". It goes something like this...

"Hi, have a seat, we need to talk. You've come to that stage in your life where... er... your older and er.. are wanting to...

Let me start again... You know when your really hungry, like your gonna eat somethin OR ELSE... and there's a massive cream cake just sitting there waiting for you to tuck in, you know, a top notch, all the goods; icing, cream, sprinkles and ofcourse a cherry on top kinda cream cake. Well... all I'm askin my Son is before you do anythin else... Get A Spoon!!! I mean, you don't wanna get your fingers dirty now, do ya?!"

I haven't taken him serious since.


Narna xXxXx
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 21:06, Reply)
Damned right we needed to talk!
We were due to get married on the 2nd of august 2003. The below happened on 30th of June 2003. Yes, that is less than 5 weeks before the wedding. Yes everything was paid for.
I’d been concerned that something wasn’t right, but despite the insistence from me that we talk, she was all ‘ no no it’s all cool, still love you etc, still want to be mrsOg, still want your babies’. So why was she on the phone in the middle of the night?
Turns out she needed to talk, but not to me, to a school friend of mine who it appears was coming up on the weekends that I was working, and spending time at my house, in my shower, in my bed, with my fiancée. Bastard
When I woke up in the morning, something made me check her phone, and the messages that were on there coupled with the call history told me all I needed to know. I woke her up with a ‘we need to talk’ and she still insisted there was nothing wrong.
Long story short, I kicked her out, wedding off, bought her out the house. Cost me thick end of £30k for the lot but worth every penny.
For a while I kept in contact with this so called mate, and warned him what he was getting himself into. For in the few months after this while I was single, I realised what a selfish manipulative cheating slapper she was.
One day I called him and told him that we needed to talk. I told him that, some years previously, she had got pregnant after telling me that she was on the pill but wasn’t taking it, then having an abortion against my wishes. He thought this was me shit stirring.
Anyway, their kid is 2 and a half now (do the maths, she didn’t hang about) now, and they are getting married this summer, and he doesn’t really want to so I understand.
Mmmm Karma
Click ‘I like this’ if you want to come to my wedding this summer. This one isn’t cheating, is better in bed, and is generally all round cool...
(, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 13:30, Reply)
Friend of mine
didn't want to dump her boyfriend using "We need to talk" and so the conversation went like this:

"Ed....you know how we're going out? Could we, like, not?"

Bless her.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 10:59, Reply)

When I said, "we need to talk", the other sausage said, "arrrgh, a talking sausage!" and that was the end of that.
(, Sat 21 Apr 2007, 20:06, Reply)
Recently had a 'we need to talk moment'
....with Frankspencer

I sat him down and tried to put across to him the futility of becoming personally aggrieved with a complete stranger on an internet message board.

He just started wanking.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 18:48, Reply)
Aww fuck...
do I ever have a lot of these!

Okay, a bit of background first: my ex comes from a family with two kids, just her and her brother Rick. Her dad died in 1991, so she only has her mother and brother. Her mother is a sweet tempered ditz, kind of a Doris Day/June Cleaver/Edith Bunker as viewed on acid, someone you can't really get angry with as she's off in her own fluffy little world. She's a fanatical Catholic who I think very nearly became a nun. Her brother is a rather abrasive individual who has never had a girlfriend that anyone knows of. My ex and I used to debate whether or not he was gay- if he is, he'll never admit it, especially considering how much it would freak out his mother.

We used to go meet up with her mother now and then for lunch when we were living about an hour away. While it was nice enough, it invariably went the same way with her mother saying, "Now Lynne, have you heard anything from Rick? You know, I worry about him- he never calls, and when I call him he never really wants to talk about anything." And invariably my ex would fill her in on whatever little she had heard recently from Rick.

As we were driving out to one of these lunches I was saying to my ex how predictable the conversation was, and recited the above bit to her. She acknowledged that it did get a bit monotonous, but said that I was exaggerating. I shrugged it off as we entered the restaurant.

We had just gotten our drinks when her mother said the above bit, verbatim. My ex was struggling to keep a straight face through this and glared daggers at me for it as I sat there quietly smiling. When her mother finished my ex had just taken a sip of her gin and tonic.

Ever just have one of those moments when you give in to an impulse? Without missing a beat I turned to her mother and said, "Well, Lynne thinks that Rick is gay."

My ex inhaled gin and tonic and began coughing, my mother-in-law's jaw hit the table on its way to her lap, and I sat back and drank some beer in anticipation of the now much more entertaining lunch conversation.

There was lots of talk after that, and I was thoroughly yelled at by my wife, my sisters and my mother over the course of the next week. I simply smiled quietly and nodded, and relived the moment with the gentle glow of a job well done...
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 17:06, Reply)
"Legless? - We need to talk. I want you to build a backward-facing firewall for the new Net connection" says Boss

"A what?"

"A backward facing-firewall"

"There's no such thing. Or, if there is, I've never heard of it"

"Oh - it's the latest thing in security circles. A new paradigm - it's the wave of the future and we've got to catch it." says Boss

"What's it do?"

"It allows our traffic out onto the Internet but doesn't allow the Internet to reach our systems unless we allow them to."

"That’s a firewall. A bog-standard firewall. What makes it backward facing?"

"I don't know! That’s what we pay you for. You're supposed to be the expert" grumbles boss.

"But it's just a normal firewall! There's nothing even remotely "backward-facing" about it" I protested.

"Well I want one! It's part of my vision for this department. We have to be seen to be innovative. To set new standards, to lead the way"

"To boldly go where no man has gone before" I muttered "And you want to be careful who you tell about your visions. My Nan had visions and they locked her up"

"Less of your bloody sarcasm! Now go and read up on backward facing firewalls and build me one!!

"Yes boss"

So I ordered a bog-standard Nokia firewall, configured it, and installed it in a rack. Backwards.

You can't make this shit up......

(, Wed 25 Apr 2007, 11:45, Reply)
Ultimate tragedy...
"We have to talk..." said she.

We talked, for 6 cocking hours.

I almost shot myself.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 23:15, Reply)
Times they are a changing
1980: We need to talk good buddy. Knock it up to channel 21

1990: We....to ta... Fuck it, let me see if I can stand outside and get a better signal

2000: My name is Mukharjee and we are needing to ask you some security questions before we can talk

2007: soz u r dmpd lol
(, Wed 25 Apr 2007, 8:47, Reply)
keep it simple
her: so how are you feeling about us?
me: really good
her: i disagree

have to admit that was genius in brevity.
(, Sat 21 Apr 2007, 23:34, Reply)
Various times
One of which was when I was 14. My aunt, with whom I live, came to me and said "We need to talk."

Fuck! Police been round to tell her about all the porn I'd been looking at? All the files I'd downloaded illegally?

"I've left some tissues in your room and I've had to throw your duvet out. Please don't do it again."

I didn't realise that after the 2 years of wanking and wiping my man goo on the inside of my duvet, it had turned a horrible and crusty shade of yellow. Ew.

I use tissues now, or even printing paper when stocks are low.
(, Sat 21 Apr 2007, 15:06, Reply)
ANOTHER girlfriend who'd prefer to drink from the furry cup...
If anybody decides to go out with me, never dump me drunk, otherwise you get things like this:

"We need to talk...."

I'm not proud of it
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 14:35, Reply)
desensitised from over use...
My partner, whom I love dearly, bless her, tends to over-use the phrase, "we need to talk".

Now in our early days this used to scare the bejesus out of me. Not in the least because her finishing with me would involve a lot of pain and loneliness (and packing and moving home) on my part.

But in the intervening years I have developed an immunity to the fear those four words instills in most right-thinking individuals.

Because I have learned that she actually means we literally just need to talk (as opposed to rutting, watching TV and drinking). So the dreaded "We need to talk..." is often followed by conversations about any number of things from relationship related d and m's, to family problems, work, life, TV, drinking, rutting etc, etc.

So there's no problem there. I'm used to it.

The strange part is, I now do not fear those words in any context. To the point that people end up complimenting me on how well I take being screwed over, or berating me for being cold and detached when recieving particularly bad or good news.

To date, I have remained cool as a cucumber, aloof and relaxed while being told;

- Our parents have been in a car accident
- Your sister died three times on the operating table
- You're fired
- This company is being liquidated
- I'm divorcing your brother
- We're having a baby
- Grandma died

I could go on, but I fear you may all think I am too callous, cold and detached.
(, Fri 20 Apr 2007, 10:41, Reply)
Wife: Honey, we have to talk
Wife: If I died, would you remarry?
Husband: Err...no of course not!
Wife: You don't enjoy marriage?
Husband: Yes I do....er...maybe I would remarry
Wife: Would you still live in this house?
Husband: I suppose so, it is a nice place to live.
Wife: Would she sleep in this bed?
Husband: I guess, its a good bed to sleep in
Wife: Would you play golf together, just like we do?
Husband: Well, that is when we have the best times together
Wife: Would she use my clubs?
Husband: Nah, she's left-handed.

Husband: Shit
(, Tue 24 Apr 2007, 13:44, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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