The (not) Family Drama that’s Got Everyone Saying “What the heck?”​

Picture this: a guy in his late twenties, a family that’s basically the Avengers (but with more paperwork), and three teenage girls who were just about to get sent to a state‑run orphanage. The hero—let’s call him Mr. “I‑Had‑to‑Help”—steps in, adopts them, gives them a car, a college scholarship, and a place to stay. Fast forward ten years, the girls are now adults, the family is a bit of a ghost town, and the girlfriend, Gorgeous Grumpy, is on a first‑date‑with‑a‑judge kind of mood.

Here’s the gist: Mr. “I‑Had‑to‑Help” still feels a strong bond with his “sisters.” He’s the emotional glue that kept them from slipping into the CPS abyss. But the girlfriend thinks he’s overprotective and loving them too much. When the topic pops up at dinner, a full‑blown argument ensues, the girlfriend accuses him of being in love with the sisters, and the guy ends up calling her “insecure, crazy, pathetic,” which, spoiler alert, he later regrets.

So, is the guy the Am I The Asshole (AITA)? Let’s dive into the juicy details and the comments that will make you snort and roll your eyes.

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The Backstory (Because Why Not)​

• Sixteen‑year‑old hero: “Hey, my parents and I adopted three girls from high school. They had no family, their mom died, and CPS was about to swoop in.”
• The girls: “They’re from a rough background, had substance issues, and older men were a real problem.”
• The parents: “We gave them school, college, cars, apartments, and basically turned them into our own little brood.”
• Now: “We’re all in our late twenties, the sisters are drifting away, and my girlfriend only knows them twice. She’s not happy, and my mom feels used.”

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The Argument (Because We Love a Good Fight)​

1. The girlfriend mentions a high‑school “rude” reputation.
2. The hero defends the sisters, says one was well‑liked.
3. The girlfriend asks “Why do you always defend them?” and “Are you in love with them?”
4. The hero is “Oh boo hoo, did you have to protect them?” and “Are you in love with them?”.
5. The hero calls her insecure, crazy, pathetic.
6. The girlfriend claims he’s ruining the relationship because he’s “defending a sister I am in love with.”

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Comments That Turned the Conversation Into a Meme Factory​

NTA.
“Oh boo hoo… would have been enough for me. Buh‑bye GF!”
— The “I just want a hug” type.

NTA, but your GF sounds very unkind and judgmental.
“Did your parents actually adopt the three girls or foster them?”
— The “I’m still not 100% convinced” type.

My GF is typically one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met.
“To answer your question though, my parents actually became the legal guardians of two of the sisters.”
— The “I’m the best mom in the world” type.

Comments like “She said, ‘Oh boo hoo, did you have to protect them?’ and eventually, ‘Are you in love with them?’” are not the words of a sweet person.
— The “you’re a bad person” type.

Your gf is immature and probably has low self‑esteem.
“She also has trust issues.”
“You can wait for her to grow up, put up with her attitude, encourage her to get therapy or, my choice, get another gf.”
— The “do it yourself” type.

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TL;DR​

• Hero adopted three girls, gave them life‑changing support.
• Girlfriend thinks he’s over‑protective and in love with them.
• Argument escalated into a full‑blown “boo hoo” war.
• Comments ranged from “Buh‑bye GF!” to “Get therapy.”
• Verdict: The hero’s feelings are valid, but the girlfriend’s reaction is questionable.

Bottom line: The only thing that’s definitely a mess is the communication between the two of them. If you’re going to adopt, expect the drama. If you’re going to date someone who can’t handle that drama, you might just need to start looking for a new partner. Or at least, a new sister in the conversation.

Once upon a time in a suburban kitchen, I was sipping coffee while my niece (the 16‑year‑old future doc‑in‑the‑making) asked a life‑changing question: “What if I were a doctor again? Could I be a pediatrician like you?”
I, the 39‑year‑old skeptic, calmly replied that I’d probably be a dentist instead, because apparently my wife earns more than I do, and pediatricians don’t get rich.
She left, then called me an idiot for putting her off a “good” career. The moral of the story? My niece might want to heal babies, but I told her to consider the dollar signs.
So, Reddit, am I the asshole?

TL;DR: I warned a 16‑year‑old about money, she got mad, Reddit said I'm not the asshole, and now I’m stuck with a future pediatrician who might be a broke kid.

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A distant brother, a sibling with nine kids, and a holiday budget that makes Santa look broke.

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The (Slightly Misunderstood) Post​

Picture this: a brother who’s never met half of his sister’s brood, a family that has somehow managed to squeeze 9 little humans into one house, and a Christmas wish list that would make a tech‑savvy toddler blush. He decides to keep the tradition alive by buying one big, expensive gift for the whole clan. Then his sister, who apparently discovered the “money is tight” mantra after buying a new car for the kids, asks him to split that gift into individual presents. The brother, feeling the pressure of a $1,000+ bill and the reality that he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, pulls the plug. The sister calls him a jerk, hangs up, and the family feud begins.

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The Comments (Now With a Little Extra Spice)​

1. “NTA. It's not up to her to dictate what gift you give and what value. Maybe you should send her a box of condoms.”
Because nothing says “I’m not paying for your kids’ tech” like a surprise love‑gift.

2. “Funny and factual.”
Someone’s got the perfect one‑liner for the “I’m not a Santa Claus” meme.

3.
“NTA at all. Respectfully, they shouldn’t have had more kids than they can afford. Downvote me if you want, but 9 kids is way too much.”
“I understand wanting a big family, but if you can’t even afford a big family, then you’re just being selfish.”
“Your sister is severely entitled to money and gifts that’s not hers, and that she’s not even obligated to.”
“Especially, when you two aren’t even close and you haven’t met half of her children.”
“She sounds like the type that if you were to send those gifts, she’d definitely put her name on it, to make it seem like she bought the gifts, and take the credit.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, and I wouldn’t blame you if you opt out of sending any gift at all.”
“Your sister sucks and she’s a major AH.”
“It’s absurd that she’s behaving so immaturely. Save your money for yourself, or for someone who isn’t being so rude and entitled.”
TL;DR: “Sister is a baby, you’re an adult. Stop the drama.”

4. “NTA. Having nine kids and complaining ‘money is tight’ and expecting a single person to pick up the slack is not it.”
Because apparently “pick up the slack” means “buy a MacBook for each child.”

5. “NTA. Asking for help is one thing. Requiring you to spend $100/kid for NINE KIDS is outrageous. Millions of kids would kill to open ANY gift on Christmas morning.”
Cue the “you’re on the wrong side of the budget” chorus.

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TL;DR​

A brother, a sister with a tiny budget and giant expectations, a list that could fund a small tech company, and a family feud that could be the plot of a sitcom. Bottom line: if you’re not a billionaire Santa, it’s okay to say “no” (and maybe suggest a less expensive “everyone gets one” gift). The sister got a call from the universe that said, “You’re not the chosen one, buddy.”

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Picture this: you’re on a cruise—the kind where the ocean is salty, the buffet is endless, and the only thing missing is a decent Wi‑Fi signal. You’re with your girlfriend, who’s been patiently waiting for the moment you’d finally pull out your wallet and say, “I’m paying for everything, boo.” Spoiler: you were right, but only up to the point where “everything” stopped being the ticket price and became the mandatory gratuities that cost about $110.

You’ve got a shiny Amex Platinum card that gives you $200 in annual perks, and a $150 cruise promo credit that magically turns into a $350 treasure chest. You decide to use that treasure chest to buy your girlfriend’s tip. You send the money, thinking she’ll be grateful for the extra generosity. But, oh boy, when she discovers the $350 hidden in your credit card’s back pocket, she goes from “oh, sweetie” to “hold on, you’re hiding this from me!”

Her demand? “I’m a couple; you owe me half of this credit.” Your retort: “I spent $700 a year for that card, so I’ll keep the extra.” The argument escalates into a full‑blown “relationship is transactional” showdown. You’re left wondering: are you the asshole? Or just the guy who’s secretly saving for a life raft?

TL;DR: You bought a cruise, got a $350 credit, and when your girlfriend found out you’re not sharing the extra, she freaked out. Turns out, the credit card perks are not meant to be split like pizza slices. Spoiler alert: you’re probably the asshole.

I (17ish, F) have a sibling who is a professional athlete – a fact I keep under wraps because, well, privacy. We have different last names, so people rarely realize we’re related. I prefer to stay discreet. It’s come up a few times at school thanks to clueless classmates, but never really caused a problem.

Recently, I started a situationship with someone. I didn’t mention my sibling because I wanted them to get to know me first, without that extra layer. Things were going smoothly until they found out. They’re now upset I didn’t tell them and say I should have been honest from the beginning.

AITA for not telling someone my sibling is a professional athlete?

Ever feel like you’re the only one paying the rent in your own house? Meet our hero—28‑year‑old, a part‑time night‑shift hero, a side‑job hustler, and a proud dad of two tiny humans and a 10‑year‑old step‑daughter. He’s been the financial backbone of the family, juggling a $2,800 take‑home, overtime, and a rotating shift schedule while his wife, the “long‑term sub” (no, that’s not a reference to a kitchen appliance), pulls in about $1,800 a month. Rent is $1,600, bills are $800, and somewhere between the two of them, their financial plan is more “wild west” than “budget spreadsheet.”

Enter the grand event: a hotel birthday bash for the step‑daughter that cost more than the rent itself. The wife claims she only had $100 left for the month—only to discover she’s still short after the party. Meanwhile, our hero is still smoking weed every day (yes, we’re not judging—just noting), and the kids are basically living in a house where the money disappears faster than a magician’s rabbit.

So, our protagonist decides it’s time to stop being the family’s “bailout machine.” He’s calling on his wife to file for child support, to get a degree, and to actually start looking at a budget instead of treating the rent like a personal expense.

The Reddit Reaction (without the usernames, because we’re all about anonymous hilarity)​

#	Commenter’s Take (paraphrased)
1	“You’re high every day, so why expect your wife to be on her best foot? Maybe the weed is the real problem here.”
2	“Child support is a legal obligation. It’s the child’s money, not the mom’s. The law says it.”
3	“NTA, but why call her ‘her bills’ when you’re married? The bills are joint, and you’re both supposed to decide what happens to the money.”
4	“You need a neutral space, kids in tow, and a real plan. No more ‘hotel party’ without a discussion.”

The community is basically saying: “Hey, if you’re the one paying the bills, maybe you should ask the law to step in, or at least ask your wife to get her act together.”

TL;DR​

• He’s the family’s financial superhero, but his wife is partying with the rent money.
• He’s going to file for child support and push her to get a degree.
• Reddit says: “Legal obligations exist, and budgeting is a must.”

Bottom line: Stop being the family’s personal ATM and start filing some paperwork. Or at least start budgeting the weed.

I started a new job about eight months ago and, like most people, I tried to blend in. I took the “office social butterfly” approach: start a conversation, ask about hobbies, share the latest cat meme. I met a girl—let’s call her Mia—and she turned into my unofficial office buddy. Then we recruited two other guys, and soon the lunch break turned into a quartet of awkward silences and questionable snack choices.

In the beginning, Mia was a mystery wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a suspiciously boring phone. She didn’t want to sit with my two male colleagues because, in her mind, they were “boring.” I offered her a seat anywhere, and she dutifully claimed “it doesn’t matter, I’ll sit wherever you sit.” The irony? She was the real boring one, spending 75% of her break scrolling through TikTok while pretending to be “in the moment.”

Fast forward to the small drama and tiny lies that made my coffee taste like burnt sugar:

• Wrong birthdays.
• Fictitious wedding details.
• Lies about her sister’s age.

She’d sprinkle these deceptions into conversations like a seasoned chef seasoning a dish with the wrong amount of salt. If you’re going to lie about the smallest things, you might as well start with the big ones.

Mia’s “home life” stories were a sitcom in themselves: a 28‑year‑old who claims her mom still cooks, combs her hair twice a day, and does all her housework (while she’s supposedly “getting married soon”). I’d half‑expect a sequel where she reveals she’s actually a secret superhero living in a basement.

When my colleague tried to include her, Mia would respond with a short answer, then drop a “Yeah, what else?” as if the conversation was a game of Would You Rather?—but she was the one asking the question. She wanted the closeness, but not the effort. She’d ask for the deepest secrets, yet refused to share any of her own.

And the most heartbreaking? I cried at work over something that happened. Mia saw me, didn’t come over, didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t offer a shoulder. Yet she later bragged about how “we’re all such close friends.” Classic pick‑and‑choose friend vibes: you’re there when it suits her, but you’re just a garnish on the table when you need it.

Bottom line: I’ve never met someone who behaves like a haunted doll that suddenly got a voice and a phone. I trust my gut, and it’s telling me that this is a toxic relationship in disguise. I’d keep her at arm’s length—maybe even at a safe distance—just to avoid the next drama episode.

So apparently the dance floor has officially gone from "spicy" to "grandma‑friendly." Someone noticed that the twist—once the risqué rebellious act of the ’70s—has become so mainstream that even our beloved elderly relatives might start busting out a twerk at the next family nuptials. The future looks bright: 2053 will be the year the wedding reception will feature a living room‑style dance-off, complete with a few silver‑haired participants showing off their best hip‑shakes.

TL;DR: Grandmas are about to become the next viral dance sensation, and wedding planners should start stocking extra glitter.

Post
Why we dream. Brain runs a midnight movie with zero budget and wild plots. Why?

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The comments (because Reddit loves drama)​

I hate dreaming because I just wanna sleep. I'm fast asleep, and next thing you know, I have to build a go‑cart with my ex‑landlord.

Neuroscientists believe that dreaming is intimately involved in how the brain handles the memories of daily events. Researchers know that normally we go through several “dream cycles” through the night. If volunteers are wakened during the first of these, they all report dreaming about the events of the day. However, as the night progresses and some material is stored and some “deleted,” the mind fills in the dream from previously‑existing memory or from sheer creativity. Dreams from the last cycle, usually just before waking, tend to be at their most confused and chaotic.

What the hell Goofy is supposed to be, given the existence of Pluto.

In that world, if you have clothes you can talk. No clothes = regular animal.

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Ever felt like your 8‑hour shift could be a time‑lapse of the slowest snail ever? One Redditor asked the world, “What is the most boring thing you have ever experienced?” and the comments that followed turned into a cautionary tale of corporate anti‑fraud measures that would make even the most enthusiastic office clown stare at the clock.

The Situation
The call center in question was a Wells Fargo office that had a very strict “no‑pen‑no‑digital‑devices” rule. Picture a room full of agents who could read a novel, build a LEGO tower, or fiddle with a fidget spinner, but could not write down a customer’s account number or record a call. The only tools allowed were books and the occasional toy. Every day felt like forever, and the only “action” was the relentless ping of inbound calls that lasted less than two minutes each.

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