(My dad and I are watching TV. My dad is straight, he is also a little bit drunk at this point. Stephen Fry comes on the TV.)

Dad: “It’s a pity Stephen Fry is gay.”

Me: “Why?”

Dad: “Because he’s so good looking!”

Sister: *randomly* “Blue.”

Me: “What…?”

Sister: “Blue!”

Me: “Green?”

Sister: “Blue.”

Me: “Yellow.”

Sister: “Blue.”

Me: “Red.”

Sister: “Blue.”

(We go on like this for some time, until there aren’t any colors left for me to say.)

Me: “This isn’t fair. There’s only a limited number of colors I can say, while you can keep saying ‘blue’ for ever!” *I think for a while* “Oh, wait! I know! Octarine.”

Sister: “What’s that?”

Me: “It’s a color that doesn’t exist. You can’t beat that! I win!”

(She is silent for a while.)

Sister: “…blue?”

Dad: *leaving me a voicemail* “So if you’re not doing anything, why don’t you come over after work yesterday for dinner?”

Me: *leaving voicemail for him in response* “Sorry dad, I can’t remember which decade I parked the Time Machine in, so yesterday might not work. How does tomorrow sound?”

(I am 16 and shopping for a dress for the school semi-formal. On our way through Filene’s, I grab a lurid bra and show it to my mother.)

Me: “Hey, maybe this would look good under my dress!”

(My mom answers me, but calls across several yards and multiple other customers in the process.)

Mom: “No, no, no! You’re a C-cup!”

(It was five years before I took my mother shopping again.)

(Our 7-year-old daughter is pretty independent in the bathtub, but every few minutes we check on her and make sure she’s moving along with the stages of washing her hair.)

Me: “How you doing in there?”

Daughter: “Fine.”

Me: “What state is your hair in?”

Daughter: “California!”