rSlash - r/TIFU by Flirting and Almost Dying

Episode Date: November 1, 2025

0:00 Intro 0:05 Allergies 2:12 Advances 5:38 Microwaved socks 6:56 Cow go moo 8:39 Flirt 10:16 Elevator 12:42 Tits McGee Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Yep, it's the most powerful iPhone ever, plus more peace of mind with your bill over five years. This is big. Get the new iPhone 17 Pro at tellus.com slash iPhone 17 Pro on select plans. Conditions and exclusions apply. Welcome to R slash today I effed up, where O.P almost kills themselves. with salsa. Today I effed up by realizing I'm not a wimp, I'm just allergic and I could have died. So I'm a 29-year-old guy from a Mexican family where if a food doesn't make you sweat, it's not a real meal. I've always been the odd one out. My tolerance for spice is

basically zero, and I've accepted my role as the family lightweight. My thing has always been salsa verde. Every time I ate it, my lips would get a little puffy and tingly. It wasn't like scary swollen, but it was noticeable. I just thought, okay, cool, this is what a mild spice feels like for a wimp like me. It was my normal. I'd just take a benedril if it felt a bit more intense than usual and get on with my day. The big plot twist happened last Sunday at a family barbecue. We were all eating tacos and I slather on the salsa verde. Within a few minutes, I feel the familiar puff-up starting. I nudged my sister and said, whoa, this green salsa has a real kick today. My lips are already getting fat. She looked at my mouth, then back at the salsa, and started laughing.

Dude, that's not a kick. Your lip is actually swelling. Mom didn't put any chilies in that. It's just the tomato and the onion stuff. The whole table got quiet and just stared at my face. My mom's eyes got huge. Miho, she said, that's not spice. You're allergic. You've been having a reaction this whole time and just been calling it spicy? It finally clicked. For 29 years, I've thought my puffy lip was a sign of my weak constitution. Turns out, my body was just having a low-key allergic meltdown to a totally normal ingredient. I wasn't a wimp. I was just unknowingly dosing myself with an allergen and treating it with Benadryl. So yeah, I'm not bad with spice. I'm just allergic to the family's safe sauce. I've got an appointment to figure out what exactly hates me,

but for now, the jokes at my expense are absolutely relentless. The comments this thread make me think that some of you people need a public service announcement. If a food makes your mouth feel itchy or tingly, you're allergic. That's not normal. Today I effed up when I shut down my young co-workers' advances. Look, I'm just a regular guy. 32 years old, married to a woman who's way out of my league, and our life is simple and good. I like it that way. I come to work, I do my job, I go home. The last thing I won or need is drama. About a month ago, we hired a new girl, Kelly. She's 18, right out of school, and full of that bubbly energy I vaguely remember having. For some reason, she decided I'm her target. At first, I figured she was

just friendly, but it's gotten to a point where I can't ignore it. It's been things like finding little hearts drawn on my notepads if I leave them in the kitchen, constant staring. I'll be working and get that feeling that someone's watching me, and sure enough, it's her. She just blushes when I look up. Some loudmouth in sales jokingly called her my workwife, and she just ran with it. Started signing notes to me with WW, just mortifying. The real kicker was when I was talking with a buddy here about winning kids with my wife, and Kelly, who was pretending not to listen, chirps in with,

I've always thought I'd make a great stepmom. What do you even say to that? My strategy, which in hindsight was pretty dumb, was just to be aggressively married. I'd bring my wife up constantly, hoping she'd get the message. My wife and I saw that movie. My wife packs my lunch, etc. I thought I was setting a clear boundary. I was not.

So this brings us to the F up last night. It's late, and it's just the two of us left in the office finishing a project. The place is dead quiet. She brings me a coffee I didn't ask for, and does that thing where her fingers linger on mine for way too long when she hands it to me. I pulled my hand away, And she gets this really serious look and asks,

Are you really happy? And that was it. My patience, which I usually have a lot of, just hit zero. All the weeks of awkwardness and cringing just boiled over. I dropped the polite, nice guy act, and I was just blunt. I looked her right in the eye and said, My wife is my world. That's not an appropriate question for work, and it's not up for discussion.

I expected her to get embarrassed, maybe stammer on apology. But that's not what happens. It was like I flipped a switch. The smile, the bubbly personality, all of it just vanished. Her face went completely blank. She just stared at me for a second, then said, Okay, in this flat, dead voice. The rest of the night was dead silent.

It was the most uncomfortable hour of my entire career. Today, it's like I'm sitting next to a stranger, a really angry stranger. She won't look at me, But the vibe is so hostile, it's making my skin crawl. I'm no longer dealing with a kid with a crush. I'm dealing with a pissed off woman I have to work with every single day. My big F-up was thinking that being direct would solve the problem.

But I think I just made it a thousand times worse. Now I'm just sitting here, replaying it in my head, convince she's going to march down to HR and claim I was the one hitting on her. O.P., if she's already willing to just ignore all your hints that she's married, then, yeah, I'd say you have a dangerous situation on your hands. You should beat her to the punch and go to HR yourself and report that you're being harassed. Honestly, you should have gone to HR weeks ago. Today I effed up by microwaving my socks at work.

So I biked to work. This morning, it poured on me halfway there and my shoes and socks were absolutely soaked. By the time that I got to the office, my feet were pruned like raisins. I thought, okay, I'll just dry them out real quick in the breakroom microwave. I'd seen people do gloves in there before, no big deal. I take off my socks, toss them in for two minutes, and go back to my desk. About 45 seconds in, I smell something awful, like burnt hair mixed with wet dog. Then the fire alarm goes off.

Turns out, the synthetic material in my socks basically melted and filled the entire office with smoke. Everyone evacuated. Building management shows up, asks where the fire was, and all my coworkers are standing around shivering in the parking lot while I have to admit, uh, it was my socks. Now the microwave is trashed. HR sent an email reminding everyone not to cook clothing. And I've achieved permanent nickname status, hot socks.

Yeah, it's kind of a funny story, but what kind of self-obsessed, careless person puts their disgusting socks in the company microwave where people heat up their meals? Gross, OP. Today I effed up by mooing on the toilet and discovering it actually works. I'm a 36-year-old woman who had a hysterectomy last week, and recovery is basically just finding out how many ways your body can betray you. Sneezing feels like being stabbed. Coughing is a crime against humanity, and pooping, loll, good luck.

So I'm up late, Googling tips because I'm desperate, and I find this random comment where someone goes, Just moo like a cow. It relaxes your pelvic floor. I rolled my eyes so hard. But next morning, I'm on the toilet, sweating, bargaining with the universe, and thought, fine, let's moo. And I did. Like a legit, deep from the chest, moo. And it worked immediately. Like, my body just went, ah, yes, cow mode engaged. Anyway, here's where I really effed up. My husband was literally walking past the bathroom as I was mid-mood. He opened the door and just caught me. We made eye contact. I froze. He froze. And then I absolutely lost it laughing.

Except laughing after abdominal surgery feels like being ripped open from the inside. So now I'm sitting there on the toilet, crying, clutching my stomach, half laughing, half mooing. While my poor husband is standing there like, what the actual hell did I just walk into? He didn't know whether to comfort me, call 911, or just back out slowly and just back out slowly. and pretend none of it happened. So yeah, today I effed up by mooing on the toilet and learning it actually works, but also permanently scarring my marriage in the process. Don't feel bad, O.P. If Entai has taught me anything, it's that a lot of guys are really into cowgirls. Today I effed up by trying to flirt with a guy at the gym and ending up in a full-blown CPR situation.

I'm a 22-year-old woman and I recently started going to this new gym and there's this insanely cute guy who works out around the same time as me. I've been trying to find the courage to talk to him for a couple of weeks. Yesterday, I finally decided it was time. I saw him doing deadlifts and thought, okay, casual compliment, easy in. So I walked by, smiled, and said, your lats are majestic. What the hell, majestic? What was I thinking? I don't know why I said that. I meant to say, you're lifting a lot, or nice form, or literally anything else. He looks confused and said, Uh, thanks? And I panicked and decided to just walk away and die in the locker room.

While trying to speed walk away in embarrassment, I tripped over a medicine ball someone leapt in the way. My face planted into the floor. And I knocked the wind out of myself so hard I couldn't breathe for like 20 seconds. A trainer saw it happen, thought that I was having a heart attack, and started actual CPR protocol before I could wheeze out. I'm fine. That same cute guy helped hold my legs up while I got a lot.

oxygen. Pretty sure I died inside. Anyway, now I'm the CPR girl at the gym. And yeah, I still plan to go back, even though I can't. This top comment from the golden pants. Step one, flirt. Step two. Question mark? Step three, he had my legs in the air while I laid there completely out of breath. Sounds like a success to me, lull. Today I effed up by forgetting that elevators aren't private. For the last two effing years, I've been going into the office three days a week. Each of those days started with me stepping into an elevator to the 14th floor and ended with me coming off the elevator at the first floor. In between there are countless times where I'd use the elevator for lunch or whatever occasion I need to step out for. Without fail,

every time I've ever been in this elevator alone, I would do some goofy thing because it's my own personal space. Sometimes I would dance to whatever song is playing in my earbuds. If I If it's Little Wayne, I'd do throwing money gestures. If it's Benson Boone, I'd do an air guitar and sing out loud. Imagine the high note of please in beautiful things. Two years I've been doing goofy stuff like this, including throwing it back and catching myself doing it and laughing out loud saying, bruh, I'm actually stupid a.F. Today, I walked towards the elevators like usual and found myself alone in it once again. So I looked at the elevator's mirror and started posing like I'm in a bodybuilding contest. I started yelling out, look at you, yeah, big man on the scene,

uh, pose switch, ah, the muscle, ah, the definition. Then the elevator doors opened, so I gave myself the finger guns in the mirror as I regained my composure before I conducted myself professionally as I walked into the office. I know you're already judging, I would never do this in public, but genuinely speaking, these little moments brighten up my day sometimes, because I get to act a I live my day-to-day life pretty restrained, and this is one way for me to ease up the tension of it. Outside of that elevator, I swear to God, you would never expect this from me. I'm so stuck up at work, and I know the corporate lingo to a fault. I'm the guy who talks about action items, meeting agendas, and product life cycles. I greet everyone with a good morning and a

have a wonderful night, including security. Well, today, as I left the office a bit earlier than usual, the security clerk spotted me walking towards the exit from a distance. And, I kid you not, he yelled out word for word, Ha! Big man on campus! My face flushed. I said, pardon me? He said, oh, sorry, I was talking to my colleague. Oh, have a good night. And then he gives me finger guns.

Man, they can fire me. I don't care. I am never working from office again until this guy retires, at least. Today I effed up and it's 14 years too late to fix it. Most of us have a name for our spouse or significant other. Playing with Siri one day, I changed my wife's name on my phone to Tits McGee and never bothered to change it back. Obviously, when you change the name of someone on your phone, that name is associated with all the contact information for that person.

So even though my wife's name isn't a part of her email address, every time I'd email her, the name shown would be Tits McGee. For 14 years, I thought I was the only person that saw that. However, every email I've ever sent that had my wife copied on it, the recipient saw Tits McGee, every effing email, including our daycare center. I'd like to thank the wonderful team at Chuck Echee's event planning for pointing this information out to me in an extremely professional manner. That was our slash today I effed up, and if you like this content, be sure to follow my podcast

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