A collection of all-time greatest hits!
(I’m in the kitchen, and start singing while preparing dinner. I begin to shake my bum to the beat. My boyfriend enters the kitchen.)
Boyfriend: “I like that song!”
(My boyfriend claps on my bum, and is about to leave.)
Me: “Hey! More!”
(My boyfriend returns and claps on both bum-cheeks at the time.)
Boyfriend: “They sound totally different.”
(My mom is putting laundry away and opens up one of my dad’s drawers.)
Mom: “Oh, hey! Look at this!”
(She proudly holds up my dad’s jock.)
Me: “Let’s burn those and pretend this moment never happened.”
Mom: “When will you ever learn? I’ll never give up a chance to embarrass you.”
(She goes back to the laundry basket, yanks out a bra and holds it over her shirt. She begins dancing.)
Mom: “BOW CHICKA WOW WOW!”
(I am 23, but I have a niece who is 16. I am taking her to lunch.)
Niece: “Do you like [popular brand of shoes]?”
Me: “I don’t own any, but yeah I like them. I’ve heard they’re really comfortable.”
Niece: “I don’t. They’re so hipster. And hipster is becoming mainstream. And I hate mainstream. I’m like an anti-hipster-hipster.”
Me: “I don’t think that makes sense.”
Niece: “Sure it does!”
(We pass by an intersection with two Americanized Mexican food restaurants.)
Niece: “You know what is a bad place to eat?”
(She names a local authentic Mexican Food restaurant.)
Niece: “It tastes too Mexican.”
Me: “So, let me get this straight. You’re an anti-hipster-hipster who doesn’t like her Mexican food to taste too much like Mexican food?”
Niece: “Exactly! I’m so glad you understand!”
(While I am doing homework one night, I overhear my fiancé singing to himself. I only hear part of the song but what I do hear goes as follows:)
Fiancé: “She’s made of all the things I love. Like meat and bones and pretty hair…”
(My husband cannot consume any food or drinks that contain fructose. On the other hand, he absolutely loves potatoes. My mom is visiting, and we are in the kitchen making dinner.)
Mom: “We can all have some dessert wine after dinner.”
Me: “Well, [husband] can’t.”
Mom: “He can have potato wine!”
Me: “That’s called vodka, mom.”
