(I’m at a family party celebrating the 60th wedding anniversary of my grandparents.)

Uncle: “Mom, Dad, I’ve got to ask. Sixty years: how’d you do it?”

Grandpa: “Well, that’s easy. We never both wanted to get a divorce at the same time.”

Grandma: “So far.”

(My mum comes home one night a little more tired than usual. She needs my help in the kitchen.)

Mum: “Can you please put the thing in the thing?”

Me: “Which thing?”

Mum: “You know, the big thing. The black one.”

Me: “This thing?” *holds up pan*

Mum: “No, no. The other one.”

Me: “Is it this thing?” *holds up wok*

Mum: “Argh, why don’t you understand? It’s the thing, the thing!”

(This goes on for quite some time until eventually I work out that she means one of the cooking pots, and I hold it up.)

Me: “This is the thing you’re talking about?”

Mum: “Yes! Yes, THAT thing!”

Me: “Mum, you’ve really got to be more specific when you talk about things.”

(My parents have been redoing the kitchen for about a year now, and I still find myself wondering where things go when I come home on the occasional weekend from school.)

Me: “Mom, where do you guys keep the measuring cups? I don’t remember.”

Mom: “Oh, don’t worry about forgetting. You don’t really live here.”

Me: “Wow, thanks, Mom. I feel so loved.”

(My mom calls me on my cell phone, and as I’m not available, it goes to voicemail. She leaves me a message.)

Mom: “Hello? Are you there? Pick up… hello? Hello? Well, I guess you’re not at home. It’s Mom, give me a call.”

(Later, I call her back.)

Me: “Mom, you know, when you call my cell phone, if I don’t answer, it goes to voicemail, not an answering machine.”

Mom: “So?”

Me: “So, when you’re leaving a message, I can’t hear you. Because it’s voicemail.”

Mom: “Why can’t you hear me?”

Me: “Because… it’s… voicemail.”

Mom: “Oh. I’ll just talk louder, then!”