(It’s a very long car trip. I’m about 14 and my brother’s 12. We’ve been getting on each other’s nerves.)

Brother: *holds finger an inch from me* “I’m not touching you! I’m not touching you!”

(He does this for several minutes, until I snap.)

Me: “Stop not touching me!”

(He then proceeds to put his hands all over me).

Me: “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!”

(My 16th birthday is in a few days. My mom is holding her fingers about two inches apart.)

Mom: “You’re this much too short!”

Me: “What are you talking about?”

Mom: “I expected you to be the same height as me when you’re sixteen! I was the same height as me when I was 16!”

(I couldn’t stop laughing!)

(I live with my grandparents on my summers home from college. My grandmother is on vacation outside the country, and asks me to look after things, concerned my grandfather would be lost without her. I laugh it off, until one afternoon. I’m sitting on my laptop in my room while my grandfather is starting dinner. He suddenly runs into the room.)

Grandfather: “Where does your grandmother keep the extra towels?”

Me: “In the bathroom, Grandpa.”

Grandfather: “No, not the bath towels. The ratty ones.”

Me: “Oh. In the cabinet in the entryway.”

Grandfather: “Okay, thanks!” *turns to leave*

Me: “Wait, what do you need extra towels for?”

Grandfather: *sheepishly* “I may have put regular dish soap in the dishwasher.”

Me: “What?!”

(I go downstairs to survey the damage. Sure enough, our entire kitchen floor is covered in bubbles.)

Me: “How does this even happen? Did you read the bottle before you put soap in?”

Grandfather: “They’re both the same color. How was I supposed to know?”

Me: “Now I know why Grandma doesn’t go on vacation.”

(I am around nine or ten years old; I’ve just gotten some science-fiction books passed down to me from an older cousin. I come across a strange word, and try to sound it out as I walk behind my dad.)

Me: “Suh-nuh-vab-itch.”

Dad: *turns around and glares* “What!?”

Me: *stares back innocently*

(It wasn’t until I read the book again at the age of 16 that I realised what I’d said to my father!)

(I am known by my manager for being a bit too quiet sometimes, a side effect of my social anxiety. A customer approaches me holding a shirt and a bit of paper and a pen. I understand immediately what the issue is as we have a short back and forth of price checking by writing to each other on the scratch paper. My manager witnesses this exchange and pipes up.)

Manager: “[My Name], I know it’s crowded right now, but please use your words.”

Me: “She’s deaf.”