Before I was born, my aunt was married to a guy who considered himself a prankster. He was more like a Schrodinger’s a**hole — the guy who plays it off as “it was just a joke/prank” if you got upset due to his horrible behavior.

Mom got engaged to Dad, and [Aunt’s Husband] got an idea for a “joke.” The plan was to get my father drunk the night before the wedding and buy him a one-way ticket to Hawaii. Naturally, this would have left my mom alone at the altar for a wedding that could not happen, that was barely afforded, with Dad stuck on an island with no money to fly back. I’m guessing it would also be “hilarious” to cost other people money to eventually get Dad home and “hilarious” to have a whole bunch of people furious at [Aunt’s Husband].

Perhaps the greatest blessing of this whole thing was that [Aunt’s Husband] added to the “mirth” by openly threatening to do this prank — several times. My mom repeatedly told him that it wasn’t funny and that he’d better not do that to her. He doubled and even tripled down on it.

Finally, a few days before the wedding, Mom snapped and called my aunt. In an icy fury, she told my aunt that if [Aunt’s Husband] dared to pull off that “prank,” she would commit a felony and go to jail with a smile on her face.

My aunt was completely in the dark and very confused about the whole thing. [Aunt’s Husband] had been making his prank threats when [Aunt] wasn’t in the room. After Mom explained to [Aunt] what her husband had threatened to do, [Aunt] said she would put a stop to it and not to worry.

[Aunt’s Husband] made one more threat of a different “prank”; he threatened to throw my father into the fountain, rented suit and all — because throwing Dad into the fountain would be funny, regardless of how much the suit rental company would charge Dad for the damage caused by the “prank.” This, too, was thankfully stopped.

[Aunt’s Husband] ultimately passed away from a heart attack before I was born, and my aunt married a much kinder man who is my acknowledged uncle.

I was visiting my goddaughter, and I ask her what she wants to be when she grows up.

Goddaughter: “I want to be everything, except for a bad guy or a cowboy.”

Me: “Why not a cowboy?”

Goddaughter: “I don’t know. I just don’t want to be a cowboy.”

Me: “But you want to be everything else? You’re going to be a plumber, and a cop, and a doctor? Isn’t that a lot of things to do at once?”

Goddaughter: “No, I’ll do them all.”

Mother: “It’s too bad she won’t be a cowboy or she could be all of the Village People at once.”

My goddaughter stayed true to her claim for my whole visit, repeatedly telling me she didn’t want to be a bad guy or a cowboy. Poor cowboys get no love.

I live with my sister. She has [contagious illness] and can’t smell well. She’s cooking spaghetti and adds sauce, and she asks me to try it. I do, and the sauce is sour.

Sister: “I’ll ask someone else.”

Me: “Don’t eat that! It’s rotten!”

My sister checks the bottle and frowns.

Sister: “Oh, it expired.”

Me: “See? I told you so!”

Sister: “I just thought… since you have acid reflux disease, everything tastes sour to you.”

Me: “Are you nuts? Everything doesn’t taste sour to me even though I have acid reflux! Is [illness] eating your brain cells?”

She dumped the spaghetti in disappointment. I’m glad she didn’t eat that sour stuff and get sicker!

I work with two- to three-year-olds at a daycare. One boy is a little whiny at the end of the day. His mother is in a hurry and looks like she’s about to scold him, which I know will only make things worse for the both of them, so I sit down next to the boy.

Me: “Boy, oh, boy, did we have a busy day or what?”

Boy: *Sighs dramatically* “Oh, Mommy, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Mom gives a tired little smile.

Me: “I think Mommy may have had a very busy day, as well.”

Boy: “Mommy, did you?”

Mom: “I sure did, sweetheart.”

Boy: “I see.”

Me: “How about you put on your shoes so you can go home and have a nice dinner together?”

Boy: *Starts fake crying again* “I don’t waaaant toooooo! I never, ever, ever want to leeeeaaave!”

Mom: “Oh, [Boy], come on!“

Me: “Oof. They really are a handful at this age, aren’t they?”

Mom: “They really are. I just don’t know what’s wrong with him!”

Me: “Oh, don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong with him. He really is just very tired. Once you get some food in him and have a bit of quiet time before bed, he’ll be back to his sweet old self in no time. Every child his age does this, trust me. Now, [Boy], you see Mommy is very tired, too? She’s probably hungry, as well! I bet you’ll have something really nice for dinner. Put your shoes on and Mommy will show you!”

Boy: “You put my shoes on!”

Me: “Me? Oh, I could never. You are way too big to need any help!”

Boy: “That’s right, I am the biggest. Look, Mommy! Look! I can do this all by myself. I don’t need any help at all from no one!”

Mom: “That’s wonderful, honey; I am so proud of you.”

They leave quite happily. A couple of days later is another very busy day with various temper tantrums, ear-piercing screams, pinching, and biting. I am pooped at the end of the day, and I look like a wrung-out mop. The same boy is being picked up by his mother.

Mom: “Oh, dear, look at you! Long day?”

Me: *Managing a smile* “You wouldn’t believe it.”

Boy: *Pets my head* “Oh, don’t worry, nothing’s wrong with her. She really is just very tired. Once you get some food in her and have a bit of quiet time before bed, she’ll be back to her sweet old self in no time. Every lady this age does this, trust me.”

Spot on, kid!

I am in late middle school or early high school. A (female) friend of mine invites me (also female) to her house one day for a gaming hangout; between my figure and my clothing and hairstyle choices at the time, I’m the first to admit that I look very androgynous, but my voice is very obviously female.

When we get to her place, her father comes up to us in the entryway. As soon as he sets his eyes on me, he immediately and loudly yells my friend’s full name in the you-f***ed-up tone that parents tend to use.

Friend: “Dad, you and Mom already said I could invite a friend over!”

Her Dad: “You should know better than to lie to me to get your dates in the house, missy! I’ve told you several times that you are not to bring boys home!”

Me: “I’m a girl.”

Her Dad: “Oh, uh…”

Friend: “And it’s kind of rude of you to assume that me bringing a boy home automatically means he’s my date or vice versa!”

Her Dad: “What the h*** is the ‘vice versa’ in that situation?”

Friend: “If I did bring a date home, what makes you so sure that it would be a boy?”

Her father gets very red in the face but retreats into the kitchen. One afternoon of gaming later, I’m preparing to leave when her mother gets home, and the three of us end up meeting in the entryway where — surprise, surprise — she ends up thinking I’m a guy, too.

Her Mom: “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

Me: “Hey, at least you didn’t blow up at [Friend] for bringing a guy home, thinking he was a date.”

Her Mom: “I… What?”

Friend: “Yeah, Dad started yelling at me all angry. ‘I told you not to bring dates home! Why did you lie to me to bring a boy here?!’”

Her Mom: “Did he, now?”

You know that tone someone uses when they’re angry, but they’re not angry at YOU? Her mother bid me a good day, asked [Friend] where her dad was, and warned me not to forget my jacket when I was halfway out the door without it, all in THAT tone.

The next school day, my friend told me that her father’s “you are not allowed to bring boys home” rule turned out to NOT be a collective decision that her mom was involved with, and her father had spent the weekend on the couch.

For what it’s worth, my friend and I both eventually realized we were bi, though we’ve never dated.