(I am learning to drive, with my mum teaching me.)
Mum: “Slow.”
(I’m going the speed limit, so I am not sure why she wants me to go slower, but I do anyway.)
Mum: “SLOW.”
(I slow some more.)
Mum: “SLOW!”
(I go even slower.)
Mum: “Slow, slow, slow!”
Me: “Mum, I am going so slow that I have actually stopped. How much slower can I possibly go?”
Mum: “Oh, sorry. I meant left. You need to turn left at that street next to us. Left.”
Me: *facepalm*
(I get a phone call. The caller ID is showing a number that I don’t immediately recognize, but seems vaguely familiar.)
Me: “Hello?”
Caller: “Hi, is this [my name]?”
Me: “Uh, yes, what can I do for you?”
Caller: “Hey [my name], this is Mrs. [last name] calling.”
(Upon hearing her last name, it immediately comes to me. I had a friend in middle school who had the same last name.)
Me: “Oh, hi Mrs. [last name], it’s been a while. Any particular reason why you called today?”
Caller: “Have you seen my son anywhere? It’s almost eight o’clock, and he’s still not home yet.”
Me: “Mrs. [last name], I haven’t seen your son since I was 14. That was nine years ago.”
Caller: “Well, if you do happen to see him, can you please call me back?”
Me: “Uh, sure. Have a good evening, Mrs. [last name].”
(What really gets to me is how she was able to get my phone number, as it was my cell phone number, which I started using when I was around 18. I guess I should never underestimate the ability of a concerned mother.)
(My two-year-old little sister is walking around the house, singing.)
Sister: “Frére Jacques, Frére Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? I don’t know the words here! I don’t know the words here! La, la, la. La, la, la!”
(She sings this several times before ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’, which she ends with ‘Life’s a butter dream!’.)
(I am about 17. I have two lesbian mothers, and was conceived with the help of a sperm bank. I am out shopping with the mother who carried me.)
Mom: “Hey, [my name], look!”
Me: “What?”
(Mom holds up a turkey baster.)
Mom: “It’s your dad!”
(Our family is on holiday, driving through a particularly beautiful part of the country.)
Sister: “It’s so picture-skew!”
Me: “You’ve only ever used ‘picturesque’ in written form, haven’t you?”
