Photography World In Shock, As Image Conjures One More “Wow” Than Expected

, , , , , , | Related | November 8, 2018

(I like photography, and I show my sister a pretty good photo I took and edited.)

Sister: “Wow.”

Sister: *slightly more amazed* “Wow.”

Sister: *very amazed* “Wow!”

Me: *pouting* “One more wow?”

Sister: *monotone* “Wow.”

Parental Autocorrect To Be Blamed For All These Kids Ducking Swearing

, , , , | Related | November 7, 2018

(My mum needs some groceries and we decide to take my three-year-old nephew along to give my sister some peace. As we are walking round we overhear another customer:)

Customer: “Oh, f***. I forgot butter.”

(They dash off, and we think nothing of it until we hear from my nephew.)

Nephew: “Oh, f***.” *repeats this over and over*

(Mortified, my mum thinks quickly.)

Mum: “No, there’s no ducks here.”

Grumpy Old Grandparents Found To Be Lead Cause In Derailing Sales

, , , , , | Related | November 6, 2018

(My stepfather is big on model trains, and he finds a specialized hobby shop. My mother and I go with him, and it’s a very quaint place, almost more like a personal exhibition than a shop at all. There’s an elderly couple behind the counter, and a girl — presumably their granddaughter — sitting in a corner crying. It’s a bit annoying, but it’s hardly going to ruin our day for a six-year-old to cry in the same room we’re in. However, it soon becomes clear that her grandparents are far less tolerant of her than we are, with her grandmother ignoring her completely and grandfather snapping at her.)

Girl: “I want my daddy!”

Grandfather: “Too bad!”

Girl: “I want to go home!”

Grandfather: “Good!”

(We’re all exchanging uneasy glances at this point, and my stepfather is hurriedly browsing items without actively inspecting them anymore. After another minute or so of crying, the phone rings, and the grandfather picks up.)

Grandfather: “Hello? She’s been crying all day! Half an hour? That’s fine.” *hangs up*

Girl: *sobbing* “Is daddy coming to get me?”

Grandfather: “Probably not.”

(We left without buying anything and never went back.)

Breaking News: Fast Food Can Make You Fat

, , , , , , | Related | November 5, 2018

When I am fourteen, our family moves from Israel to the USA. I am a pretty skinny, petite teenage girl who is used to eating the normal, very reasonably-portioned, healthy diet of home-cooked food that was traditional in Israel.

As soon as we move, my mother takes advantage of the abundance of pre-made and fast food here to nearly completely replace our diet. She brings home things like store-cooked, super-fatty chickens for dinner, and encourages me to eat large portions. She frequently takes me out for fast food burger meals, and pulls out high-calorie ice creams from the freezer to shove them in my face and insist I eat them with her, usually multiple times a day. Instead of sending me to school with an actual lunch, all I get is a thin pita with some chocolate smear for breakfast and money to buy lunch at school, and the only food sold at school is high-calorie, high-carb stuff like bagels and pizza.

At that age, and with my cultural background, I know absolutely nothing about nutrition, and so don’t realize I shouldn’t be eating most of this stuff. Unsurprisingly, within just a few months I gain over twenty-five pounds. Along with the extra weight, I get a lot of very bright, red stretch marks in multiple places, including many places on my legs.

I am finally truly sick of my mom nagging me because I don’t want to go to the pool, due to not wanting to show myself in a swimsuit. I finally pull up my pant legs and show her the red stretch marks on my calves and the insides of my knees. I assumed she would immediately understand, as she herself is a rather large woman, and I have seen her body enough to know that she also has many white scars from old stretch-marks on the legs and hips. Instead, however, she makes a surprised and horrified face at me, and with a tone that sounds like she thinks I have some terrible contagious disease like leprosy, she says:

“Oh, God! What the h*** is that? What’s that horrible stuff on your legs? What’s happened to you?”

When I carefully explain the little I know about weight gain and stretch marks, she looks at me skeptically and acts as if she’s never heard of such a concept before in her life – in any language — and continues to look at me funny for the rest of the day.

Despite this, she continues to feed me the exact same terrible diet, so despite daily gym classes at school and then a gym membership, none of the weight ever comes off.

A few years later, when we’re in a store trying on dresses for me to wear to my high school graduation, I find one I like and try it on. While I’m standing there, looking at myself in the mirror, my mom says, “Oh, this is such a nice dress. You know, you’d look so pretty in it if only you weighed twenty pounds less. Yeah… It’s a shame you’re so chunky, isn’t it?”

Thanks, Mom. You’ve done ever so much for me, and been such an inspiring, helpful, and uplifting person in my life, especially during the always difficult teenage years.

The Family Blood Is Black

, , , , , , , | Related | November 4, 2018

(When I was in high school, I was pretty goth. Growing up I haven’t changed much, other than altering it to what I jokingly call “Casual Vampire Goth Mom,” now that I have a daughter who is currently six and a half. I just have a darker wardrobe with bold lipsticks. One day on Facebook I see one of those text pictures saying, “My daughter is the sweetest, most beautiful, evil, psychotic creature you will ever know,” and I share it with a story from this week.)

Daughter: “Remember when you used to take me to play funerals?”

Me: “Play funerals?”

Daughter: “Yeah, play funerals!”

Me: “Um… What did we do there?”

Daughter: “Ugh, play funerals! I was like three, there were moms, and lots of kids, and toys, and we would play while you talked to each other.”

Me: “You mean play group?!

Daughter: *starts laughing* “Oh, yeah. Play group.”

(My mother comments on the post.)

Mother: “Where have you been taking my granddaughter and telling her it’s fun?!”

Me: “You mean you never took me to play funerals when I was little? What kind of childhood did I have?”

Mother: “You used to have play funerals with your cousins; I wanted nothing to do with that.”

Me: “Oh, my God! I forgot about that! I’ve been goth since I was a wee baby, and now my own wee baby has it in her blood!”

Page 4/1,734First...23456...Last