(I live with my older brother in a townhouse. Because of this I usually take care of cooking and cleaning, but this time I leave him in charge of making dinner.)

Brother: “How do you cook hotdogs?”

Me: *blank stare; heavy sigh* “Okay, first you boil the water.”

Brother: “For how long?”

Me: “Until the water boils, then you put the hotdogs in, and boil the hotdogs.”

Brother: “I don’t get it.”

Me: “Boil the water, put the hotdogs in, boil the hotdogs.”

(He gives me a blank stare.)

Brother: “But wouldn’t the hotdogs already be boiled, right when I put them in?”

Me: “What? No, because when you put the hotdogs in the water stops boiling… you need to wait for it to boil again.”

Brother: “For how long?”

Me: “A couple of minutes… and if you want to be more precise, the hotdogs will start splitting.”

Brother: “So, I wait until they’re split?”

Me: “Yes…” *walking away* “I’m leaving now, and if I come back and the house isn’t here… I’ll understand why.”

(I’ve just arrived home from my parents and the home phone – a land line – starts to ring. I know it’s my mum calling to check if I got home alright.)

Me: “Hi, mum!”

Mum: “Are you home yet?”

Me: *stare at phone in disbelief* “Er, no?”

Mum: *giggles* “Sorry, I meant, ‘Oh good, you’re home!’”

(It’s late and I’ve had a hard day, so I’m in a bit of a groggy mood.)

Me: “I think my wisdom teeth are coming through.”

Mum: “How do you know?”

Me: “My gums have been feeling a bit funny lately, and my teeth have been moving out of place. I think they’re closer together. Except for that one.” *I show her* “It’s further away from that tooth than before.”

Mum: “That doesn’t make sense. If your wisdom teeth are coming through, shouldn’t there be less space, not more?”

(I think for a while.)

Me: “I think my tooth saw how all the others were moving and getting squashed together, and it wanted to get ahead of them.”

(I’m not sure if I’m wise enough for wisdom teeth.)

(My mom’s borrowing my cell phone today. She phones me.)

Mom: “Someone named [name] just texted you. What the h*** is this? ‘Did you like the pain I gave you yesterday?.’”

Me: “Huh, what?”

Mom: “That’s what [name] asked. ‘Did you like the pain?.’ What the h*** were you doing yesterday?”

Me: “Oh! That’s bread in French. He’s asking me if I like the bread.”

Mom: “So, you’re not doing anything naughty right?”

Me: “No we were not!”

Mom: “Do you want me to reply for you?”

Me: “Sure. Write ‘o-n-o’.”

Mom: “What do you mean ‘oh no’?”

Me: “Ono is delicious in Hawaiian.”

Mom: “Ugh. This is worse than you teenagers using chat speak.”

(While my parents and I are watching TV, an ad comes on that involves a character’s cats attaching themselves to his feet like furry, living boots.)

Dad: “Those poor kitties.”

Me: “You know, he didn’t turn them into boots or anything, dad. They just won’t let go because they want food.”

Dad: “Yeah, but the poor cats they got to do the filming.”

Me: “Dad, those cats are CGI.”

Dad: “Oh, really? Hmm.”

Mom: “Do you think we could train one of our cats to do that?”