(My mother has OCD and is a narcissist. Growing up in a house run by that joyous combination motivated me out the door and into my own apartment very quickly. However, I’m still very close with my dad, so I do invite him over when the mood strikes. And though I only invited him, I obviously meant to invite my mother, as well, so she happily waltzes in before him without bothering to check first. And given that I’m her son, obviously my apartment is hers to do with as she pleases. So, by the time she’s gone, everything has been moved around. I don’t notice this right away because my head doesn’t recover from the earfuls of, “How dare you try to keep this a secret from me!” that preceded all of this. Eventually, my girlfriend and I get serious enough to live together, and not too long after, my dad swings by to celebrate my birthday, complete with my mother to show him the way. Despite my numerous explanations meant to avert this, among my birthday gifts is a shouting match between that two women on the concept of “boundaries” and “respect” that I thought would have answered why my dad and I try to hide these meetings from her. But then my mother insists that I’m an idiot since my apartment is never organized. The morning after, I get the bonus of explaining how my mother’s mind works to my girlfriend as we try to figure out what my mother did. It starts in the kitchen.)

Girlfriend: *groans* “Your mom was in the fridge.”

Me: “Look for the ketchup and mustard. She might have thrown them out.”

Girlfriend: “Why?”

Me: “She doesn’t like them, so obviously they belong in the garbage.”

(Thankfully, she didn’t throw them out this time.)

Girlfriend: “Does she not like turkey breast, either?”

Me: “Right side of the deli bin.”

Girlfriend: “But that’s where she put the cheeses. Shouldn’t it be on the left with the meats?”

Me: “She doesn’t read the labels; she just looks at the contents through the bags. Turkey breast is white, so it’s a cheese.”

(She finds the turkey breast was right where I said it was.)

Girlfriend: “Why are the Golden Grahams mixed in with all the different Cheerios?”

Me: “The box is yellow; therefore, it’s regular Cheerios. The actual Cheerios go bad sooner, so they’re on the left.”

(And later on, while she’s in the bathroom doing her hair…)

Girlfriend: “Why is my birth control in the trash?”

Me: “Probably down the toilet.”

Girlfriend: “What?! Why?!”

Me: “She wants to be a grandmother.”

Girlfriend: “Did she throw away your condoms before?”

Me: “No, she just poked holes in them.”

(Thankfully, I caught that one before any damage was done.)

Girlfriend: “She’s never allowed over again!”

Me: “She wasn’t allowed over last night. If you can keep her out, I’m on board.”

(Years later, we’re still not having any luck getting rid of my mother non-violently. And despite that, for some reason, this has girl still decided to marry me.)

(My mom, dad, and I are all out driving on a shopping trip. It should be noted that while my dad is intelligent, he’s never had much fondness for honing his reading skills.)

Dad: *glancing at passing storefronts* “Hmm, we should try out that new pasta place sometime.”

Mom: *confused* “What new pasta place?”

Dad: “Right there, with the big neon sign for their linguine!”

Me: “Um, Dad? That’s a ‘Lover’s Lane’ store, and the word on the sign is pronounced ‘lingerie’!”

(We are at my aunt’s house and there has been a blackout. My aunt turns on a battery-powered light in the kitchen, and my sister and cousin start making shadow puppets with it.)

Sister: *holds up two fingers in front of the light* “Look, a bunny!”

Cousin: *holds up her whole hand in front of the light* “Look, a turkey!”

Aunt: *picks up her coffee pot and holds it in the light* “Look, a coffee pot!”

(This takes place via email.)

Me: “Dear Sis, I need to enter the checks for our business in the spreadsheet. When you get the mail, please take a picture of the checks and email it to me.”

Sister: “Here you go!”

Me: “Um, Sis, a photograph of the sealed envelopes isn’t any use to me. I need things like the check number, who wrote it, and the amount. Please open the envelopes and take pictures of the checks themselves, then send them to me.”

Sister: “Oh! I didn’t know that’s what you wanted.”

(I’m sitting on the floor with my eight-month-old daughter. Her favourite game at the moment is for me to make a tower out of stackable cups, which she then pushes over. I notice that her airplane-shaped baby spoon is on the floor, and once I’ve assembled the tower, I proceed to “fly” the spoon around before letting out this brainfart.)

Me: “Oh, no! Can [Daughter] topple the tower before the plane hits it?!”

Me: *silence*

Me: “I did not think that through.”