(My fiancé and I are eating lunch. The topic of my favorite single player video game, ‘Skyrim,’ comes up. It should be noted that my fiancé owns the game and we do not yet live together.)

Me: “If I got to play the game everyday, I’d be like level 40 by now.”

Fiancé: *laughs and then gets an idea* “We should elope right now so you can get to level 40!”

(It is my dad’s birthday and my whole family is eating dinner at the table together for the first time in years. The conversation gets slight off topic as usual.)

Mom: “You’ve been to Boston before. Do you remember it?”

Me: “No, mom.”

Mom: “You went with me on a business trip.”

Me: “Okay, cool. I don’t—”

Mom: “I was four months pregnant, so you were there.”

Me: “I don’t remember that! Why would I remember that?! I was a fetus, mom!”

Mom: “You were still there! You. Were. Still. There!”

Me: “Mom, that’s not the same thing. Being a fetus is not the same thing. There is no possible way I could remember that!”

Dad: “… Call me when it’s time to open my presents.”

(My mother, brother, sister, cousin, and I are out at the theater. We’re trying to decide what movie to watch. My sister is about 10, while the other three (me included) are 16-17.)

Sister: “I wanna see [PG-13] movie!”

Cousin: “That sounds good!”

Me: *reads movie list* “OH, MY GOD, THEY HAVE FROZEN AS A SING-ALONG VERSION!”

Brother: “That one. We want to watch that one.”

Sister: “What? No! I’m NOT watching that! I wanna see [PG-13] movie!”

Cousin: “Why not? You’ve seen both before!”

Sister: “It’s a kid’s movie! You’re all too old!”

Me: “Am not!”

(My mother made us go to the PG-13 movie.)

(My brother is a guitarist and a serious metal-head. I am telling him about a dream I had a few days back.)

Me: “So I had this dream where we were having a party at our house and you were playing that Metallica song Stairway to Heaven.”

Brother: “That’s a Led Zeppelin song!”

Me: “Yes, but in the dream it was by Metallica.”

Brother: “That is the most stupid dream I’ve ever heard.”

Me: “Don’t lose your s*** over it.”

Brother: “You don’t mess with Metallica discography, even in your dreams. Your subconscious in tainted. Get a therapist.”

(My son is about five months old when he learns how to screech. My husband and I are getting ready for the day, and my son starts screeching. We’re in the bathroom, so I hand him one of his bath letters.)

Me: “Here, play with the letter ‘Q.'”

Husband: “Yeah, ‘Q’ for quiet.”

(The next day, the scene is repeated, minus my husband. Both times, I’m handing my son letters at random.)

Me: “Here, play with the letter ‘S.’ For shush.”