(My dad is in the middle of a very important phone call when my mom comes out of the kitchen holding a carton of juice. My sister, my dad and I are all sitting in the living room.)

Mom: *screaming happily* “I have more juice!”

Sister and me: “Shh!”

(Dad angrily glares at Mom.)

Mom: *squeaks* “Oh, dear.”

(After the phone call.)

Dad: “Why on earth were you screaming?!”

Mom: “I found another carton of juice.”

Me: “And that was an excuse to scream happily like you struck oil?”

Mom: “Well, I thought it was the last carton.”

Dad: “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Sister: “Next time, make sure that no one is on the phone when you decide to scream happily like a psychopath.”

Mom: “Is anyone on the phone now?”

Me: “No, why?”

Mom: *interrupts* “I FOUND MORE JUICE!” *gleefully runs back to the kitchen*

Dad: “Oh, jeez.”

Me: “Hey dude, you married her.”

(Back when I was younger, my sister babysat my little brother and me. On one occasion, she decided to sit in her room.)

Me: “Hey, [sister], can we have food?”

Sister: “Sure.”

Me: “Can you make it?”

Sister: “I don’t feel like it. Just get something that you can make.”

(I agree and decide to make ravioli. I put it in a pot, but realize I can’t use the stove. I get a paper towel and stick it in the microwave. After a short time, the paper towel catches on fire. I run to my sister.)

Me: “Hey, there’s a fire in the microwave.”

Sister: *thinking I’m trying to fool her* “Yeah, right. Just leave me alone, okay?”

(I then stand in the hall and start yelling her nickname that she hates until she chases after me. I lead her to the kitchen, where she sees smoke coming out of the microwave.)

Sister: *as she’s putting it out* “Why would you put a pot in the microwave!?”

Me: “Because I can’t use the stove!”

Sister: “If you tell mom or dad, you’re dead, okay?”

Me: “Okay.”

(I told mom and dad because she only said “OR”, not “AND”.)

(I am student teaching high school freshmen. I’m about to graduate and have called my dad to vent a little bit about my students. Keep in mind, we are Caucasian and my dad is generally fairly conservative.)

Me: “I put up a picture of Winston Churchill on the screen, and my kids kept saying how ‘swag’ he looks. I don’t even know what that means!”

Dad: *apparently internet-searching* “Oh! This website called Urban Dictionary has a definition.”

Me: “Uh, dad, it’s okay…”

Dad: “Swag. The way in which you carry yourself. Hey, there’s examples!”

Me: “Dad! Stop!”

Dad: “That guy’s got killa swag. Swag up, b****!” Look! I found out what I will yell at you while you’re walking across the graduation stage!”

Me: “Oh God, no. I will run away and hide.”

Dad: “My daughter’s got some swag! You b****es represent!”

(I dye my hair different colours a lot. I am out with my mum when I see a girl with hair the colour I want.)

Me: “I want to dye my hair that colour.”

Mum: “What? Curly?”

Me: *sarcastically* “Yes, I want to dye my hair curly. It’s my favourite colour.”

(My parents and I are at home during spring break playing Taboo.)

Mom: “This is something I rarely, if ever, exceed.”

Me: *with no hesitation* “Expectations!”

(The word was “speed limit”.)