Them’s Fighting Words

, , , , , , | Related | October 9, 2019

(My parents and I are eating out at a restaurant with my mom’s best friend. Everyone here is from Louisiana.)

Friend: “I’ve always loved Creole gumbos.”

Dad: *a born and raised Cajun* “So, you’ve never actually had gumbo, then?”

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Taking Great Pains To Tell You This

, , , , | Related | October 9, 2019

(My wife and I have twin sons. My wife is holding one of our sons in her arms and says to him…)

Wife: “I love you, honey.” 

Me: *passing by* “I love you, too, dear.” 

Son: “Daddy, Mommy didn’t call you that. Mommy called me that.” 

Me: “Well, what does Mommy call me?”

Son: “A pain in the neck.” 

(My wife almost dropped him from her arms from laughing so hard.)

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There Are Plenty Of White-People Movies; They’re Called Movies

, , , , , | Related | October 8, 2019

(We’ve just finished watching a movie that had a main cast that was nearly all white. At the end of the movie, the main character says, “We can save the future, but we’ll need help.” They recruit people across the globe. None of the recruits are white.)

Dad: “I guess they don’t want white people in their future, huh?”

Me: *headdesks*

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The Family Tree’s Branches Can Get A Bit Twisted

, , , | Related | October 7, 2019

(My nephew is three and is just learning to talk and understand. My dad is playing catch with him.)

Me: “Dad, we’ll be back.”

Dad: “Where’re you going?”

Me: “To the market, Dad.”

Nephew: “Hey! Dis is grampa! Not Dad!”

Me: “He’s my dad and your grampa!”

Nephew: “No! He’s your grampa!”

(Guess we should work on the family tree explaining later. Though, to be fair, I recall thinking my mom’s name was Mom and my sister’s name was Sister as a kid.)

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When Romance Becomes Horror

, , , , , , , | Related | October 7, 2019

(When I am 19 or so, my taste in books is a bit, well, trashy. I read “bodice-rippers” pretty much exclusively. My mother hates this and nags me constantly to “stop reading that garbage and read something good, instead.” I tell her to leave me alone; I enjoy those books and I am not harming anyone. One day, my dad approaches me:)

Dad: “My coworker is in the hospital, and she phoned yesterday to say that she could really use something to read. Do you think you could lend her some of your books?”

Me: “Really? Sure! What do you think she’d like?”

Dad: “How about those?” *points to my pile of romance novels* “I bet she’d like them.”

Me: “Well, I don’t mind, so long as she knows they’re just on loan.”

Dad: “Don’t worry about it. She’ll return them once she’s done.”

(I pack up all my trashy novels and give them to Dad. Weeks later:)

Me: “Dad, is your coworker done with my books yet?”

Dad: “Hmm? Oh. No, not yet.”

Me: “Really? It’s been ages. Surely she’s not still in the hospital?”

Dad: “No, she’s out now, but she’s still reading them.”

Me: “She does know that I want them back, right?”

Dad: “Yes, of course.”

Me: “Well, okay.”

(A few weeks later…)

Me: “Dad, can I have your coworker’s phone number?”

Dad: “What on earth for?”

Me: “I’d like to ask for my books back.”

Dad: *getting angry* “For Pete’s sake! I told you she’ll return them when she’s done.”

Me: “But–”

Dad: *loses temper* “ENOUGH!”

(This went on for months. I’d ask Dad to bug his coworker for my books, he’d make some excuse, I’d persist, he’d lose his temper and yell at me, and the cycle would repeat. I finally gave up when it had been more than a year. In hindsight, I can’t believe I was so naïve; there was obviously no coworker. This was a scheme cooked up by my parents to rid me of that “garbage” for once and for all. Joke’s on them, though; I now read Stephen King constantly, which disgusts my mother even more. Oh, well. I’m 55 now, and I’ll read whatever I darned well please.)

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