(We are watching home videos from when my sister is around 2 years old. My dad is holding the camera while playing with her. She is presenting her collection of stuffed animals.)
Sister: *showing a stuffed tiger* “Dis?”
Dad: “That’s a tiger. Grrr!”
Sister: *showing what is clearly a stuffed giraffe to my dad* “Dis?”
Dad: “Oh, that’s… actually I don’t know what that is.”
(My sister stares blankly.)
Dad: “It’s uh, it’s a horsey! Neigh!”
(A family, including grandparents, a mother and father, and two boys are sitting at a table. The youngest boy, about seven years old, is extremely pale. I am getting a table ready nearby and overhear them.)
Little boy: “Mum, I’m feeling really sick.”
Mum: “No, you’re not. You’re fine. Stop ruining your grandma’s birthday dinner.”
Little boy: “Mum, I’m going to be sick.”
Grandma: “Shall we take you home?”
Mum: “No! He is not ruining your dinner. He is staying.”
(Their food is brought over by another waitress. The boy waits patiently for her to put the food down, then attempts to run to the bathroom, but his mum grabs him.)
Mum: “SIT DOWN!”
Little boy: “I’m going to be sick!”
(She dumps her vegetables out of her side dish and hands it to him.)
Mum: “Nobody leaves this table!”
(The little boy has no choice but to be sick into one of our side dishes. The mum just puts a napkin over it. The little boy doesn’t touch his meal. When everyone else is finished, I go to clear their plates.)
Me: “Was everything okay?”
Mum: “Yes, he just wasn’t hungry.” *glares at little boy* “He’s ruined his Grandma’s birthday dinner! Could we have pudding menus please?”
Grandma: “He wasn’t hungry because he was sick, and you refuse to let me take him home! If anybody has ruined my birthday dinner, it’s you, and I care more about my grandson than having pudding!”
(My 4-year-old daughter is quite well-known for saying unusual and usually very funny things. Her second word was Tardis. I wake to find her sitting on me, wearing her cow onesie. Without any prompting, she casually announces…)
Daughter: “Mummy, my favourite food in the whole world is ice cream, but my second favourite food is humans.”
Me: *trying not to laugh* “Does that mean you’re a cannibal, then?”
Daughter: “Don’t be silly, mummy. I’m a zombie cow. Moooooo brains!”
(She pretends to eat me.)
Daughter: *whispering* “If you want to save yourself, you have to remove the head or destroy the brain.”
(A large family comes in to the fast food place. I’m working on putting the veggies on the sandwich of the youngest son who’s about 8 or 9.)
Kid: “Lettuce, tomato, olives…” *mumbles* “…uhm, mustard.”
Me: “Sorry, was that honey mustard?”
Kid: *shouts* “MUSTARD!”
Me: “Regular mustard then?”
Kid: “MUUUUUUUSTAAAAAAAAAAARD!”
Me: “Anything else?”
Kid: “Olive!”
Me: “I already have the olives on here.”
Kid: “OLIVE!”
Me: *looks at the dad* “I already have his olives in here.”
Kid: *starts stomping his feet and whining* “OLIVE!”
Dad: “She has the olives on there what more do you want!”
Kid: “SHE’S STUPID! NO! OLIVE!”
Dad: “Apparently he didn’t want olive or something.” *turns to kid* “You’re being naughty, cut it out!”
Kid: *screams* “Noooo!”
(I start taking the olives off, and finally the mom comes over.)
Mom: “What is going on!?”
Dad: “He didn’t want olives, but he kept saying olive.”
Kid: “No! I want olive! Olive oil!”
Mom: *points to dad* “You! You’re not allowed to do this anymore next time I do this. He wanted olives and olive oil.”
Me: “…so, he wants olives and olive oil?”
Dad: *sheepishly* “Yes.”
Kid: “FINALLY!”
(We are watching the first ‘Halloween’ movie. Mom is complaining about the movie the entire time. I change the channel to a show she would enjoy more.)
Mom: “No, you can put it back to Michael Moore.”
Me: “Don’t you mean Michael Myers?”
Mom: “Myers, Moore: both evil.”
