(This happens while I am still a teenager living at home with my mother. One afternoon, I get a call on my cellphone.)

Representative: “Hello, this is [name] with [different electric co. than the one we use]. I’m sure you were shocked by your electrics bill this month!”

Me: “Actually, no. My mum is the one who’d have handled that bill seeing as I still live at home.”

Representative: “Oh, I’m sorry. Can you put your mother on the phone, please?”

Me: “Uh, no. You called me on my private cell number and I’m at work right now.”

Representative: “Right, so when would be a good time for us to call you back?”

Me: “Umm, I’d really rather you don’t call MY personal cell back at all. Call our home phone or my mother’s cell if you must, though I doubt she’s interested in your offer.”

Representative: “Okay, we’ll do that.” *click*

(Around the same time the next day, I get another call.)

Representative: “Hello, this is [other name] with [rival electric company]. I’m sure you were shocked by your electrics bill this month!”

Me: “Look, I just went over this with your colleague yesterday. I still live with my mum, so she deals with this kind of stuff, yet you keep calling me on my personal cellphone. Please just call our home phone and remove this number from your file, okay?”

Representative: “Um, okay.” *click*

(Sure enough, around the same time the next day…)

Representative: “Hello, this is [other name] with [rival electric company]. I’m sure you—”

Me: “Okay, let me stop you right there ’cause I’m getting kind of tired of this. This is the third time you’ve called me instead of my parents, even though I’m pretty sure I can’t even legally accept any offer you might have. How did you even get this number?”

Representative: “Um, well, there’s this new legislation that allows us to get the account holder’s number on file from your current electric company.”

Me: “Right. In that case the primary phone number would definitely have been our home phone which you don’t seem to have, and I very much doubt my cellphone is on there even as a secondary contact, given that I’m still a minor and all. Now how did you really get my number?”

Representative: “Um… right, I… I can see that you’re not interested. Thank you very much for your time.” *click*

(Thankfully I didn’t receive any more calls after that!)

(My step-sister and I are around 7 and 8 when this occurs.)

Stylist: “Oh look, twins!”

My Sister: “We aren’t twins; we look nothing alike. I have dark hair and eyes, and my sister has blonde hair and blue eyes!”

Stylist: “No, you are definitely twins.” *to me* “Aren’t you, dear?”

Me: “No, she’s older than me!”

Stylist: “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You must be twins!”

(She drags us out to where our mom is waiting.)

Stylist: “They are twins, yes?”

My Mom: “Um, no.”

Stylist: “You must be wrong! I know they are twins!”

My Mom: “Well, I only gave birth to one of them, so, no.”

Stylist: “You are twins! You just don’t know it!”

(I don’t go to this pet store often, because the service is pretty bad. In the month since I was last there, they have changed the layout.)

Me: “Excuse me, can you tell me where the rawhides are now?”

Employee: “The what?”

Me: “Rawhide bones. For dogs to chew.”

Employee: “I don’t know what they are.”

Me: “They’re rawhide that’s knotted at both ends, so it’s in the shape of a bone. They used to be on this wall right here, by the counter. I’m just wondering where in the store they are right now.”

Employee: “No. We don’t have any. We’ve never sold anything like that here.”

(I don’t want to argue, despite having bought rawhides there a month ago. I thank her and go to look at dog food, where I find an entire nine foot long display of many different kinds of rawhide bones. I gather an armful and bring them to the counter.)

Me: *holds one up* “Rawhide bones.”

Employee: “Oh.” *snorts*

(My boyfriend and I are buying our weekly groceries.)

Boyfriend: “What day is it today?”

Me: “It’s Sunday, I think?”

Boyfriend: “S***!

Me: “What? What’s wrong!?”

Boyfriend: “We forgot! Game Of Thrones is on tonight! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! We need to get home!”

Me: “D***! But I haven’t finished shopping!”

(My boyfriend literally starts running around the store, pushing people out of the way and grabbing as much random food as he can carry. He then grabs two packets of two-minute noodles.)

Boyfriend: “Dinner’s sorted! GO! GO! GO!”

(We made it home in time!)

(My father is a large man with a bushy white beard, still tinged with his original red, and wears small, gold-rimmed glasses. He gets called ‘Santa’ by everyone from little kids to random strangers. My parents are on a flight and there is a young mother with a very problematic young boy. The mother is clearly trying very hard to control her son, but he is running all over the plane, getting in the stewardesses’ way, and generally bothering people. Suddenly, he sees my father and stops dead in his tracks.)

Boy: “It’s Santa!”

Dad: *booming* “That’s right! And if you keep acting like this, you’re not getting anything this year!”

(The boy immediately runs back to his seat, sits down and shuts up.)

Mother: *mouths* “Thank you!”

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