I’m at a large family reunion at a cabin owned by some extended family. Obviously, not everyone there knows everyone else well, since the relationships go back to my great-grandparents’ generation.

[Cousin #1], her brother [Cousin #2], and I are in the kitchen. [Cousin #1] has deputized her brother and me to squeeze limes and chop garlic; she herself is working steadily through a large pile of avocados, taking the pits out by slicing a knife into them and twisting them. 

One of my aunts from another branch of the family, who doesn’t know my cousins, is a notorious busybody. She can never resist telling everyone exactly what she thinks without asking herself if that’s a good idea. She comes in, sees the situation, and makes a beeline right for us just as [Cousin #1] is moving the knife toward an avocado pit.

[Aunt] grabs [Cousin #1] suddenly and jerks her arm.

Aunt: “Stop!”

Cousin #1: “Aaaagh!”

She drops the knife — luckily onto the counter — and grabs at her left hand; I see blood. She whirls on [Aunt]. [Cousin #1] is about five-foot-nothing and has a bit of a babyface, but she has an extremely loud voice.

Cousin #1: “Jesus Christ, what the f***?!”

It’s the first time I’ve seen [Aunt] speechless even for a second.

Cousin #1: “What is wrong with you?! Do not sneak up like that! I could have cut my g**d*** fingers off, you idiot!”

Aunt: “I was trying to tell you not to cut the avocados like that. You could have hurt yourself!”

Cousin #1: “So, you decided to grab me from behind while I was moving a knife?! Yeah, that’s really safe! Whatever happened to ‘excuse me,’ huh? Get out of my way. I need a bandaid — if I don’t need stitches. [Cousin #2], finish the guacamole. And you, dumba**, out of my kitchen!”

She storms past us towards the bathroom. [Aunt], of course, doesn’t leave.

Aunt: “There’s no reason to be rude! I was just trying to help.”

Cousin #2: “That was pretty mild for [Cousin #1].”

Me: “Yeah, I think she only used the F word once. And she doesn’t need your help. She’s a professional chef; she knows what she’s doing.”

Aunt: “I would never let one of my children do that.”

Cousin #2: “She’s not a child; she’s twenty-eight.”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get any sympathy from either of us, [Aunt] finally left. I later found out that she tracked down my cousins’ father and complained to him about his daughter’s behaviour… and then learned where exactly [Cousin #1] had learned not to suffer fools as he bellowed at [Aunt] that it was her fault his precious jewel got hurt. 

I don’t know if [Aunt] has learned to stop butting in all over the place, but she may have learned to choose her targets better.

I’m chatting with my sister on the phone about the global health crisis. Unfortunately, I’ve been distracted by video games lately, particularly one where you play as an assassin.

Sister: “And there are some businesses that require a vaccine or else you can be terminated.”

Me: “Wow, that’s a little extreme.”

Sister: “What?”

Me: *Realization dawning* “Other kind of ‘terminated’. Right. Sorry.”

Sister: *Jokingly* “Either way, I guess you’re getting shot.”

My mum comes round to see our new flat.

Mum: “Why do all your candles have these little lids?”

Me: “Oh, I never really realised. I guess it’s to stop things getting on the candle, catching fire. I never really thought about it before.”

Mum: “Seems daft to me.”

Me: “Maybe. I just like them because they smell nice.”

Mum: “They do, they really do.”

I end up buying her one of the candles she likes the most, and the next time I visit her:

Me: “Smells nice in here. Do I smell your new candle?”

Mum: “Hmm, yes, it’s really nice. But have you noticed it smells a bit when you first light it?”

Me: “No? What of?”

Mum: “Well, burnt hair.”

Me: “Hmmm, do you check if Morris (the cat) gets his hair on it?”

Mum: “Oh, I was dusting the other day, and I saw hairs in there. I didn’t even think. They should make something to stop that.”

Me: “Yeah, I think they do, you know. Maybe you have one already?”

She figured it out pretty quickly; the little kids are no longer as “daft” as she thought.

My mother taught me to drive. This was fine, except she always complained that I was too far over to the right. I used the oil trail in the middle of the lane as my guide to where the middle of the car should be, but that was too far to the right, so I moved over to the left just to stop her from complaining.

Me: “Is this better?”

Mom: “You’re still too close on this side.”

I got used to driving with the left side of the car about an inch away from the left side of the lane whenever she was the passenger because it was easier than listening to her complain. It was uncomfortably close, but other drivers sensibly passed me with an extra bit of clearance, so I wasn’t too put out.

This worked fine until one day when we were driving some visiting family around, and my mother was sitting in the left rear seat.

Mom: “You’re driving too close to this side.”

I am picking up my seven-year-old nephew from school. I ask how his day went since he looks pretty sour, and after a little pressure:

Nephew: “I was reprimanded in music class and told to write to not say swears in the classroom. It’s so unfair!”

Me: “Oh? What did you do?”

Nephew: “I was told to research and present some stuff about my favorite song, things like rhythm and style, and write what it is about, but the teacher got pissed when I sang mine. She didn’t get angry at others!”

I’m puzzled, and sort of not believing what he’s saying, but I figure it’s worth letting him tell the whole story.

Me: “Uh… but what song was it? Do you remember the lyrics?”

Nephew: “It was [Song], and I remember the lyrics! Listen: ‘Australian Aborigines lay down on the ground and, with a roar of fertility, release their c** into the Earth.’”

I freeze, a little startled by the… unusual choice of song, both because the singer it’s from is not the easiest of songwriters to understand, even for adults, because the sound is pretty atypical, and because, well, the lyrics aren’t the most appropriate. I stop close by his home, trying to keep my poker face.

Me: “Do you actually understand what that stanza is saying?”

Nephew: “Yeah! Aboriginal people sometimes lay belly-down on the ground, and then they spray the boys’ seed of life into the Earth.”

Me: “But you know what that seed of life is?”

Nephew: “No… Actually, do you know?”

I pretended to not know, as I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of explaining ejaculation like that, but I did get to talk with his dad. Apparently, his father — my brother — and his wife had decided to do away with parental control on media as soon as he started grade school… even if it meant having some very awkward talks with teachers about the child’s language and tastes.