(My mother is teaching me how to drive.)

Mom: “So, what do you do if a cop behind you turns on its lights?”

Me: “Pull over!”

Mom: “Yes.”

Dad: “No! You gun it and make a run for it! A hard right, couple of sharp lefts.”

Mom: “No! Don’t teach her that!”

Dad: “Once you’re away, that’s when you switch to your backup license plates. Put on your disguise in case they find you again. And remember to dump the body ASAP.”

Mom: “Stop that!”

Me: “But what if I’m smuggling cocaine?”

Dad: “Dump the body!”

Mom: *face palm*

(I’m at the store with my aunt, who is stubborn about using newer technology. I only have a few items, so I’m using self checkout.)

Aunt: “What are you doing over here? I’ve already put my stuff on the belt at the next register!”

(This register has three other people in line, all with many items.)

Me: “It’s okay; I’ll probably be done before you are anyway.”

(I resume scanning my items, while my aunt watches. When I’m done, I give the machine a $20 bill. It instructs me to take my change. My aunt’s eyebrows shoot up to the top of her forehead as she gasps.)

Aunt: “It gives you your change?! So… it’s like a vending machine… for GROCERIES?!”

Me: “Uh… yeah. I suppose.”

(My aunt rushes back to her old register, which has barely moved. All the people are staring at her. She brings her items over to me.)

Aunt: “DO MINE NEXT! I WANT TO USE THE GROCERY VENDING MACHINE!”

Me: “…I can’t take you anywhere…”

(I have recently developed a severe allergy to shellfish. My brother offers me a crab-meat sandwich.)

Me: “I love crab, but you know I can’t eat this!”

Brother: “Relax. It’s artificial crab. I checked.”

(I take a bite of the sandwich. Within seconds, I begin having trouble breathing. Luckily I havn’t eaten much, so I am fine after some Benadryl.)

Me: “You told me it was artificial crab!”

Brother: “I’m sorry! I thought your allergy was all in your head. I was trying to prove it to you!”

(We stop by the McDonald’s drive-thru to get our two daughters some supper.)

Three-year-old Daughter: “Can I have a fry?”

Nine-year-old Daughter: “Mom, she’s asking me for a fry but she has her own.”

Mother: “So? Ask her for a fry then.”

Nine-year-old Daughter: “Can I have a fry?”

Three-year-old Daughter: “No, you have your own.” *laughs maniacally*

(My family are sitting round the dinner table.)

Me: “So several of my classmates have been loudly discussing crazy places where they ‘do it’. One of them was talking about when they did it in a graveyard! Who wants to do it in a graveyard?!”

(My 13-year-old brother replies without missing a beat.)

Brother: “Necrophiliacs?”

(We all burst out laughing at this. Seconds later, my mother realises something.)

Mum: “Wait a second—how do you know what that means?!”

Me: “Mum, he uses the internet on a daily basis. Are you really that surprised?”