The Devil (And Your Daughter) Is In The Details

, , , , | Related | August 12, 2020

My mum, while not being completely tech-illiterate like some people of her age, still needs a lot of troubleshooting help from me and my brother — setting up accounts, working out error messages or emails, and that kind of thing.

She wants to set up an online banking account and calls me to guide her through it via phone. After a bit of chaos, we decide it’s easier if I set it up on my computer while explaining it to her on the phone.

Me: “All right, it’s asking for a login password. I’m going to use [password variant she uses everywhere, slightly changed up to make it safer].”

Mum: “Oh, yes, I’ll be able to remember that!”

Me: “Yeah. Okay, the security questions are the usual. I’ll put in your first pet and where you met Dad.”

Mum: “Okay.”

Me: “You’ll also need a sort of PIN number. I’ll just use [number combination she also uses everywhere that is, at least, not a birthday or other easy number to figure out].”

Mum: *Long pause* “Sure.”

Me: “Okay, now I’m going to enter your credit card details from that bank so it’ll be connected—”

Mum: “Wait a minute!”

Me: “Sorry?”

Mum: “How do you know my credit card details?! And remember all these other things so well?”

Me: “Mum. I’ve been setting up accounts and changing passwords and ordering or booking stuff online for you for years.”

Mum: “Oh, right.”

Me: “I know your online identity better than you, to be honest.” *Laughing* “I could probably hack every account of yours without you even noticing. Aren’t you glad I’m a good daughter instead and help you?”

Mum: *Also laughing* “You are a good girl for tolerating your silly old mum’s problems.”

She’s not had any troubles with online banking yet, but she still keeps joking about how I’m someday going to drain her account and run away with all her data and passwords.

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This Mom Will Give You A Bloody Headache

, , , , | Related | August 11, 2020

My mom is the type of person who loves nature and believes in the healing powers of plants and things like that. I don’t really believe in that sort of stuff. She also loves to watch documentaries and takes a lot of what she hears in them to heart. 

Me: “Ugh, I have a headache.”

Mom: “I know what you need! The other day I was watching a documentary about how nosebleeds can relieve headaches. You just need to get a nosebleed and you’ll be fine.”

Me: “What? No, I think I’ll just take an Advil.”

Mom: “In the documentary, they mentioned that this plant can cause nosebleeds if you rub it on your nose. I have the plant here. Want to see if it works?”

Me: “I think I’d rather have a headache than a nosebleed.”

Mom: “Come on! I want to see if it works. Maybe we don’t even need to rub it on your nose. I think if we burn it…”

Me: “No, thanks. I really don’t want a nosebleed. I think I’ll just lie down.”

Mom: “Fine. I’ll burn it in the kitchen and breathe it in to see if it works.”

She did burn the plant, and no, neither of us got a nosebleed.

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Sex For Anything Besides Reproduction? How Dare You!

, , , , , | Related | August 11, 2020

I was raised in a very open household, where I was encouraged to talk about all subjects, so I don’t really get embarrassed easily. My sister-in-law, on the other hand, is bizarrely prudish, to the point that she refers to pregnancy as being in a “delicate condition.” It’s particularly weird because she’s not even religious.

We are both in our late twenties, and at the time of this story, I am being treated for a health issue which means I can’t take the pill. My husband and I are not ready for children yet, but we have slipped, so I am at a pharmacy and convenience store getting a pregnancy test and a large box of condoms. My mom is also somewhere in the store buying her own things, while I’m already at the register.

My sister-in-law enters the store, sees me and my items, turns an interesting shade of red, and makes a beeline for me. Her side of the conversation is done in an angry whisper that’s still audible to other people in line, while mine is at my normal voice tone.

Sister-In-Law: “[My Name], what are you doing?! Why are you buying this trash, and at a local family store? Don’t you care about our family reputation?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Sister-In-Law: “You’re a married woman! People are going to think you’re cheating. And are you? What do you need this for? Married couples don’t need condoms, and a whole box is just scandalous. And if you thought you were in a delicate condition, you’d see a doctor, unless you’re trying to hide your infidelity!”

Me: “I need condoms because I like sex and so does [Husband]. I’m pretty sure a whole box of condoms make us prepared, and hopefully very lucky. And I need the test because, well, I like sex and so does [Husband]!”

I wiggle my eyebrows.

Sister-In-Law: “You’re just shameful! I’m ashamed to even know you! Would you be buying this if your mother could see you? Of course not, you—”

In one of those benevolent-universe coincidences, my mom chooses this moment to come to the register.

Mom: “Hey, [My Name], did you finish buying your stuff already? I found a box of the [different condoms] you prefer if you want to switch.”

Sister-In-Law: *Screaming* “You’re all shameful!”

As she stormed out of the store, the cashier and the couple behind me in line were dying of laughter, I had laughing tears rolling down my eyes, and my mom was just super confused. To this day, my sister-in-law barely speaks to me at family functions, which I still consider a double win!

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In The Middle Of Difficulty Lies Opportunity… For Revenge

, , , , , | Related | August 11, 2020

In art class, my younger brother drew a portrait of someone he assured me was Albert Einstein, a claim I found… dubious. Our mother called it a masterpiece and insisted on framing it up on the wall in our room.

It was utterly creepy, with horrid nostrils and mismatched eyes that I could swear followed me wherever I went. It was also right above our beds, which meant I got to wake up to a creepy old man staring down at me every day.

Unfortunately, I was naive enough to mention it to my brother, who then gleefully insisted on keeping it there for the next decade. Eventually, we both moved out, and I threw the portrait out during the confusion of packing and moving out.

My brother found out eventually and vowed vengeance, promising that I’d one day regret tossing Einstein out. Nevertheless, those were six happy years spent away from that horrid portrait.

When the recent health crisis got worse, we moved back in to help our mother. The next morning, I woke up to find the portrait staring right down at me once again and freaked out.

Apparently, at some point, my brother had drawn another portrait of Einstein and deliberately made it even creepier than the last — warty nose, mismatched nostrils and eyes, moustache and expression that just screamed “pervert,” and wormy eyebrows. He hung it in the same spot as its predecessor after I went to bed.

I literally had it burned, but the damage was done. As promised, I regret tossing Einstein out. It wasn’t worth being traumatised by its successor.

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Sounds Like The OP Is The Braaaaaains Of This Operation

, , , , , | Related | August 10, 2020

Growing up, my brother and I often play video games together, with him at the controls and me paying attention to the plot and telling him where to go next. He is horribly dyslexic but has great coordination, whereas I am an excellent reader but lack the dexterity to play many kind of games. This usually works out well, but, being siblings, we would end up bickering sometimes.

At the time of this story, I am seven and my brother is eleven. We’re playing the latest game in a popular green-clad-hero series and have just gotten an add-on for the system that lets us discover hidden areas by vibrating, or maybe rumbling, the controller. Since we’re not doing anything plot-related at the moment, my brother has decided my directions are more annoying than helpful — fair — and tells me to stop talking. So, I do.

Then, he falls into a hidden hole he just found, into a dark room with a gaunt figure crouched in the fetal position in the middle. Ominous ambient sounds play. My immediate thought is, “That’s a zombie.” I say nothing.

My brother approaches the creature fearlessly. “It’s going to eat his brains,” I think, keeping quiet.

He gets within arms reach of the monster and it shrieks, locking his character in place. We both jump and he starts frantically mashing buttons as the totally-a-zombie climbs on him and quickly drains away his life. Game over. I start laughing.

Brother: “What’s so funny?! Did you know that would happen?!”

Me: “It was obviously a zombie!”

Brother: “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Me: “You told me to shut up!”

He didn’t like that answer and chased me out of his room… for just a bit… until he got stuck on the next quest and had to ask me where to go.

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