(My parents are discussing birthdays and ages.)

Dad: “Well, you’re two years older than Michael Jackson!”

Mom: “He’s dead!”

(She giggles.)

Mom: “I’m two years older than dead!”

(I am in my room, wondering what to do with my girlfriend on Valentine’s. I am also majoring in architecture.)

Dad: “You’re pretty quiet today.”

Me: “Yeah, I am wondering what to do on Valentine’s.”

Dad: “Build her a Taj Mahal.”

(One of my friends from junior high and I always joke that if our little sisters ever met, they’d get together and plot world domination. We have individually met each other’s sisters.)

Me: “I’m home!”

Sister: “Hey! I’m in the kitchen with some friends working on a project.”

(I enter the kitchen, and do a double take.)

Me: “Aren’t you [friend’s] little sister?”

Friend’s sister: “Yeah…aren’t you [my name]?”

(I flip open my phone and dial my friend, while my sister and all her friends look on in confusion.)

Me: “Hey, [friend], remember how we used to joke about what would happen if our sisters ever met?”

Friend: “Yeah?”

Me: “They became friends and neither of us noticed.”

Friend: “Shoot. We have to be nice to them now, don’t we?”

Sister: *mentally connecting the dots* “Wait, [friend’s sister] is the one you were telling me about? That if we ever became friends we would take over the world?”

Me: “Yes.”

Sister and friend’s sister: “Mwahaha!”

This story is part of our Sisters’ Day roundup!

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Read the Sisters’ Day roundup!

(After playing in the snow with my three-year-old daughter, we enjoy some hot cocoa. My nine-year-old son comes back from a friend’s house. He immediately spies her hot cocoa.)

Son: “Hey! Let me have some, please?”

Daughter: “No, it’s mine!”

(She takes another small sip.)

Daughter: “Okay, you can have it. Be sure to put the cup in the sink.”

Me: “That’s very nice of you to share, but you shouldn’t share your drink because—”

Son: “Hey! It’s all gone! You drank it all!”

Daughter: “Ha! Gotcha!”

(She dances off as me and her mother try to keep our composure.)

Me: “They grow up so fast!”

(My mother keeps a shopping list on the kitchen worktop for anyone to add to, when they notice we need something. My mum is talking to my fourteen-year-old sister.)

Mum: “Why have you added ‘tweezers’ to the shopping list?”

Sister: “I want a pair to pluck my eyebrows with.”

Mum: “You’ve spelt it T-W-E-A-S-E-R-S.”

Sister: “So?”

Mum: “So, I’ll buy you tweezers when you can spell it correctly.”

(Over next few days, my mother would find a different – and always incorrect – permutation of the spelling of “tweezers” on the shopping list. After about a week, she finds the following scrawled on the list instead.)

List: “Screw it, I’ll buy them myself!”