(For as long as I can remember, I always liked my grandparents’ house and got very sentimental over the idea of them selling it, so one time when I was a little boy I ask my very blunt, Frisian Dutch grandmother a question, trying to be tactful.)

Me: Grandma? When you don’t need your house anymore, can I have it?

My grandma: *laughing* You mean when I’m dead?

(Ever since, she’s recalled this story to everyone, omitting exactly what I said in favour of her ‘translation’. Fast forward nearly two decades and I’m in the garden with my parents, watching my dad.

After my grandfathers’ deaths, I inherited their penknives.)

Me: Dad… when you don’t need your penknife anymore, can I have it?

Mum: *bursts out laughing* You mean when he’s dead!?