(I’m going home on the bus with my sister. We drive past my school.)

Me: “Look, it’s my school!”

Sister: “You said that as if you were surprised it was there.”

Me: “Hey, don’t you think it would be really cool if buildings could move? Imagine that one day your school is in the middle of town, the next it’s down by the lake, and so on.”

Sister: “Yeah, but then how would you find it?”

Me: “There would be some sort of electronic chip on your school ID card, which you could use to localise the school. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Sister: “But what if you’re just arriving, and suddenly the school moves? You’d always be late for class.”

Me: “Maybe you could somehow reason with the building and talk it into moving only during the night.”

Sister: “But you still wouldn’t know what time to wake up to be on time. For all you know, the school could be at the other end of town!”

(I think for a moment.)

Me: “Actually, no, you’re right. It’s a stupid idea. The kind that people have late at night, when they’re drunk.”

Sister: “…except that it’s the afternoon, and you haven’t had a drink in your life.”

(My mother is hosting a barbecue for the language class she teaches. I have come back for the weekend, and have to make small talk with the guests.)

Guest: “So, you’re not at university then?”

Me: “No, I work.”

Guest: “Oh, are you the daughter who lives in London?”

Me: “Yup, that’s me.”

Guest: “So … that makes you the nurse?”

Me: “No, that’s my sister over there.”

Guest: “Ah, so you’re the one who lived in the cockroach-infested flat?”

Me: “Exactly! Wait, how do you know that?”

Guest: “Oh, your mum told everyone she taught.”

Me: “…wonderful.”

Guest: “Don’t worry. That’s all I know about you and your sister.”

(I wander over to my sister.)

Me: “Hear that? When mum sums us up, she says she has one daughter who’s a nurse, and her other daughter lives in London in a cockroach-infested flat. I’m sure I’ve done something else with my life!”

Sister: “Nah, nothing she thinks important.”

Me: “Dad! What’s for dinner?”

Dad: “Food.”

Me: “…okay, dad, but what kind of food?”

Dad: “Good food.”

Me: “What kind of good food?!”

Dad: “Really good food!”

Me: “Jesus Christ, forget it. I’ll go downstairs and check!”

Me: “Hey, mom, I’ve been thinking.”

Mom: “Yeah?”

Me: “If I ever get sentenced to death row for any reason, I want my last meal to involve lots of alcohol. That way, when I wake up in Heaven, I won’t remember how painful my execution was.”

Mom: “Good idea. Although, these days they use a lethal injection, which is kind of like falling asleep.”

Me: “Yeah, but they do it with a needle!”

(My dad and I are sitting in the living room. He is tinkering away on his new phone.)

Dad: “I don’t think I’m getting text messages. Can you send me something?”

Me: “Sure.”

(I text dad. A couple of seconds later, my dad’s phone goes off.)

Dad: “Oh, it does work!” *reads text* “Poop.”

Me: *giggles*

Dad: “You sent me poop.”

Me: “You could say it was my DOO-DEE to do so!”

Dad: “…you’re so mature.”