(My 49-year-old mother is living with a man neither of her daughters approve of. He has made horrible impressions on both of us, which only worsens when we learn that he is, A, still married, because, B, his wife is pressing charges of domestic violence and he’s, C, on bail waiting for the trial to start. My sister and I refuse to have anything to do with him and are basically waiting for Mom to realize she deserves better. I am hanging out at my sister’s apartment with her and a couple of her friends. We both get a text at the same time.)
Mom: “Girls, I think I’m pregnant! Have a doctor’s appointment next week to confirm.”
(My sister and I stare at each other in horror.)
Sister: “What if Mom has a baby?”
Me: “What if she has [Boyfriend]’s baby?”
(Mom can’t work and lives on a small disability income. Her boyfriend refuses to pay child support for the kids he has with his soon-to-be ex-wife.)
Sister: “…we have to kidnap that baby.”
Me: “I can’t think of anything better. Tell you what: you fake a pregnancy now and then I’ll raise my fake nephew-slash-real-brother.”
Sister: “I can’t do that to my boyfriend!”
Me: “Well, no-one’s going to believe [Wife] got me pregnant!”
Sister: “We need a better plan.”
Friend: “You really do.”
(Fortunately, my mom’s symptoms were early menopause, so we didn’t have to think of a genuine plan for rescuing our supposed baby sibling.)
My brother is searching for a job. He sent me a text informing me of the progress, which read, “I know job searching!” Attached to the text was a picture of a Word-document, which read:
I WANT A JOB!
+ Know some stuff
+ Is Mom and Dad’s favorite child
+ Reaches high places
He’s 26 years old. (And almost 6’3″).
(My family is made of four women: my mom, older sister, me, and younger sister. As the other three are roughly the same size, they often steal each other’s clothes and shoes. I am ridiculously tiny and therefore never have to worry about my things going missing.)
Mom: “Has anyone’s seen my flip-flops, the black ones?”
Older Sister: “No?” *hides feet behind a jacket as she is currently wearing said flip flops*
Younger Sister: “That’s my jacket!”
Mom: “No, that one is mine! Yours is blue!”
(They continue on bickering for ten minutes before I come downstairs.)
Mom: “Hurry up and get ready. The rest of us are ready to leave!”
Me: *slips on my shoes and jacket that are sitting by the door* “Done.”
Younger Sister: “Why doesn’t she have to keep all her stuff in her room? It’s not fair.”
Me: “My feet are literally half the size of yours. I don’t have to hide them away from the rest of you.”
(I caught my younger sister the next day trying to shove her feet into my shoes.)
Me: “Guess that means I’m Cinderella and you’re the wicked sister.”
(I’ve been given a rare opportunity to take a trip abroad. My dad has offered to take care of my two cats for me, so I don’t have to pay for boarding and the cats can be more comfortable at home. In his early 60s, Dad’s mind is as sharp as ever, but things like listening and following directions have never been his strong suit, for his whole life, to hear my aunt and uncles tell it. Before I leave for my trip, Dad comes over so I can show him where food is kept and how to use a bin I have by the litter box to make scooping easier. It’s a pretty simple design: you scoop the waste into the top compartment, pull a handle, and the waste falls into a compartment below to be taken out and disposed of once the bag is full. I offer to walk Dad through it but he assures me he’s got it down. After a week away, I return home and Dad picks me up from the airport.)
Dad: “You know, that litter contraption of yours is a waste of money. It doesn’t cut down on the smell at all, and it barely holds anything! I sprayed some of that air freshener you’ve got but I thought I’d better warn you. The whole apartment stinks.”
Me: “Really? That’s so weird. I’ve always found it to be very useful, and I’ve never had any complaints before. You used it according to the directions, right?”
Dad: “Of course I did, just like you told me. How much did you pay for that thing, anyway? If it was more than five dollars you got swindled.”
(I get home and go straight to the bathroom where the litter box is kept, and sure enough, the top compartment of the litter bin is overflowing with dirty litter, while the bag in the bottom is empty. For a full week, dad had been scooping litter into the top without pulling the handle to empty it into the bottom. Thankfully, a little airing out and some pet odor-removing spray was all it took to get rid of the smell!)
(I work as a ticket collector for a public farm. They have a play area for children, with tons of attractions like a corn maze and bouncy castles, and of course, farm animals. The animals are caged in so they can’t injure the guests or vice versa. A teenager and their father comes up to the ticket booth. The father doesn’t seem to speak English well.)
Dad: “Can… Can you… hug the chickens?”
Me: “I’m sorry, sir, could you please repeat that?”
Teen: *cuts in, embarrassed* “Can visitors interact with the farm animals?”
Me: “No, sorry. They’re behind a fence for the visitors’ safety.”
Teen: “Oh.” *in Chinese to the dad* “I don’t want to go if I can’t hug the chickens.”
(We have two pet chickens in the entire farm. There are petting zoos for a reason.)
