My husband's absolute favorite story to tell about me. Short and sweet:
Indian restaurant. Food comes out on a large metal hot plate. Waiter says, "Don't touch; it's hot." Immediately, what do I do? Touch the hot plate. A night of pain later, and I had to admit the waiter was onto something.
My counter-story: We're in Brussels, walking down the sidewalk, holding hands. All of a sudden, my hand is a lot lower than it had been. I look over, and... You know how there are sometimes trees planted on the edge of city sidewalks, with metal grates around them? Well, one tree had been removed, and the grate hadn't. So my brilliant, Ivy-League educated husband? Walked straight into a hole.
He wasn't hurt, so therefore it's hilarious.