Auntie Dearest Created Terror All On Her Own

, , , , , , | Related | January 13, 2021

My family took a trip to Disney World back in 1997 when I was eight years old. With me were my mother, step-father, twin four-year-old half-brothers, and twenty-two-year-old step-aunt (my step-father’s sister). My parents offered for [Step-Aunt] to go as she was fresh out of college and they felt that they may need help with three kids; they even paid for all of her meals, flight, and hotel room.

My family and I had a lot of fun going to all of the parks, but I really wanted to go on the Tower of Terror ride in the park that was known then as MGM Studios. Unfortunately, the day that we went there, the Tower of Terror was having issues and closed down for the day. I was distraught when I found out we couldn’t ride it that day.

The next day was our last full day in Florida before we went home, but my parents were too tired from all the parks and wanted to relax with us kids by the pool. I was insistent that I needed to ride the Tower of Terror and asked if one of the adults could take me.

Mom: “[Step-Aunt], would you please take [My Name] to MGM?”

[Step-Aunt] appeared reluctant, but my parents reminded her that they’d paid for everything so far and this was the only time they were asking her to do this for them on the trip.

My mother got me ready to go to the park but made sure to give me some money and a list of emergency numbers in case I got separated from [Step-Aunt]. My mother then gave [Step-Aunt] specific instructions.

Mom: “You are not to turn off your cell phone, you do not let [My Name] out of sight, and please make sure to put more sunblock on her if you are gone for more than two hours.”

[Step-Aunt] took me from the hotel and we started walking to the theme park, but I soon realized we weren’t going to MGM but to another theme park, Epcot.

Me: “[Step-Aunt], this is the wrong park!”

Step-Aunt: “We are just going to get a drink and then we will go to MGM so you can ride the Tower of Terror.”

At this time, Epcot was known to be the only theme park where you could get alcohol, as they had areas themed after different countries, each with their own alcohol. I went along with it because I figured [Step-Aunt] was telling the truth, but after [Step-Aunt] got her first drink, we started walking further into the park while she was drinking. By the time [Step-Aunt] had finished the first drink, we were in a new country’s area and she got a second drink.

I tried arguing with her, but [Step-Aunt] said she just needed another one and we would get going soon, but I had my doubts. After [Step-Aunt] got her third drink from a different area:

Me: “When are we going to MGM?”

Step-Aunt: “We may not even make it there and you will just need to deal with it.”

[Step-Aunt] continued to drag me through four more country areas, getting a drink in each one. I even tried buying my own snack and water since we had been in the park almost three hours and I hadn’t had anything since breakfast. [Step-Aunt] told me no because then she would need to take me to the bathroom and that would slow her down.

At one point, when [Step-Aunt] went to the bathroom herself, I snuck over to a payphone and called my mom.

Me: “Mom? We’re not at MGM; we’re in Epcot. [Step-Aunt] has just been getting drunk, and she won’t let me buy food or water. I’m thirsty and sunburnt.”

My mother was furious.

Mom: “What store are you near? Go there and wait, and do not go anywhere.”

A minute later, when [Step-Aunt] got out of the bathroom, my mother called her on her cell phone to tell her that she was on her way to get me and that she was not to leave. [Step-Aunt] tried claiming that I was a liar and that we had gone to Epcot after we had been to MGM and ridden the Tower of Terror. My mother wasn’t buying it.

Mom: “I will meet you at [Nearby Store]. If you’re both not there, I’m going to call the police for abducting my daughter. If only [My Name] is there, I’ll tell them you abandoned her.”

[Step-Aunt] and I waited for about twenty minutes in the store in silence until my mother showed up, practically sprinting. My mother was furious seeing me so sunburnt and dehydrated.

Mom: “You have thirty minutes to get back to the hotel. [Step-Father] wants to talk to you.”

[Step-Aunt] tried arguing her case, but my mother just told her to go. Then, she bought a sports drink, water, and a snack for me and let me regain my strength. When I was feeling better, albeit sad about how I’d been treated all day, my mother brought me back to the hotel but said she would take me to ride the Tower of Terror later if I was up for it.

When we got back to the hotel, [Step-Aunt] wasn’t there but [Step-Father] said that she had shown up but had gone home early. After I rested and got an actual meal, my mom took me to MGM before they closed for the night and I was able to ride the Tower of Terror. Besides the issues during that day, I had a great time on the trip.

I didn’t find out until years later what exactly happened with [Step-Aunt]. When Step-Aunt got back to the hotel, [Step-Father] was furious with how his younger sister had treated his daughter and asked what she had been thinking. [Step-Aunt] said that she had been planning on getting drinks at Epcot that day, that she was just going to drag me around for the day, and that she was just planning on lying about going to MGM before when they got back.

[Step-Father] was so angry.

Step-Aunt: “[My Name] isn’t your real daughter, anyway! Shouldn’t my happiness matter more to you?”

This really struck a nerve with [Step-Father] as my bio-dad bolted before I was born and [Step-Father] started seeing my mother when I was just five months old. As far as he, my mother, and I saw it, he was my real father. 

Step-Father: “You have two options, [Step-Aunt]. One, I give you some money and you take the bus back home, or two, you pay for your own flight back home, because I am about to call the airline and cancel your ticket.”

She tried pleading with him, but he was so angry with what she did that after she left, he didn’t talk to her for almost two years.

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Talking Turkey: Poetry Edition

, , , | Related | December 23, 2020

It’s Christmas, so I’m going to write a little differently, and have every sentence in this post be in rhyme:

 

My dad and our family liked meat a lot, but my entitled aunt, who shall be called EA here, did not.

EA was a vegan, a plant lover, see. Any animal-based product was pure tragedy.

 

At no other point did she make herself clear than on Christmas Eve on the 2005th year.

My dad always held a large dinner party, our relatives ranging from bitter to hearty.

 

He always loved meat, whether pork, beef, or jerky, and always took pride in his Christmas turkey.

At the time, I was still a small boy, admiring my cousins’ new Hot Wheel toys.

 

We were watching Rudolph when all of a sudden, I heard a loud scream that could curdle one’s blood in.

We rushed to the kitchen, and there was my dad, yelling at EA, furiously mad.

 

Due to fuzzy memory, the quotes aren’t exact, but I fully remember the tone and the tact.

Dad: “What’s this balderdash!? Why did you put my turkey in the trash?!”

 

EA: *Quipped* “I threw animal cruelty away! Why must you do this before Christmas Day?!”

Dad: *Barked* “I made you a salad, you shrew! Just because you’re vegan doesn’t mean we must be, too!”

 

EA: *Just yelling* “You should be ashamed! Don’t you know how these turkeys were maimed?!”

Dad: “I don’t give a darn what you eat! You keep your plants, and I’ll keep my meat!”

 

Dad: “If you don’t like it, get out of my house!”

EA grabbed her kids, who were quiet as a mouse.

 

She then whispered in her huffy stroll:

EA: “Don’t worry, kids. Meat eaters get coal.”

 

I started crying because of the yelling, but my grandma soothed me in her voice so compelling.

We ended up ordering pizza that night. Other than the turkey, things turned out all right.

 

EA still came every Christmas since then, but kept her mouth shut about being vegan.

I think she especially became less of a brat when Animal Control took her “vegan” cat.

 

She didn’t stop us from having our Christmas feast,

And he, he himself, her son, carved the roast beast.

Source: Reddit (Credit: Daniel, Original Story)

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This Is A Painful Learning Process

, , , , , | Related | December 22, 2020

I grew up on a small homestead in Delaware that consisted of a house on a two-acre lot on the outskirts of a small town. We had a HUGE organic garden, chickens, dairy goats, and a large berry patch.

This happens in the mid-1990s. When I am ten, an elderly family friend and her husband decide to move to the area to retire after living in the suburbs of Long Island for most of their entire adult lives. We all call them aunt and uncle. They really don’t understand my parents’ lifestyle; my mom homeschools my sister and me and we eat fresh and home-processed foods as much as possible. We have a pretty typical life and are allowed junk food but it is usually homemade.

My aunt thinks that scratch-made foods aren’t as healthy as foods that come from the store due to some weird thing that her mother taught her during World War Two.

This is what happens the first Christmas that they celebrate with us. My mom decides to make homemade honey wheat bread from scratch and my “aunt” doesn’t like it.

Aunt: “I brought bread for the meal!”

She holds up two bags of Wonder Bread that are WELL past their sell-by date.

Aunt: “The church was giving these out for free!”

Mom: “I made four loaves of honey wheat bread from scratch. I ground the wheat myself and the honey came from an Amish lady that [Dad] did some work for.”

Aunt: “Why are you feeding us that garbage?! My mother taught me that the best foods are highly processed because they add vitamins to the food, and processed foods are cheaper than scratch-made foods! You are harming [Sister]’s and [My Name]’s development by not feeding them Wonder Bread!”

Mom: “Don’t you realize that the junk you brought is not only full of preservatives and chemicals, but it is well past the sell-by date? I won’t feed that to my kids!”

Aunt: “I am going to throw away your bread because Wonder Bread is better for them!”

She grabs all four loaves and tries to throw them in the garbage can.

I am watching this and, for some reason, I grab a wooden spoon at this point. I slap her hand with the wooden spoon as she tries to drop the bread into the garbage can.

Me: “No, [Aunt]! You are not going to throw away bread that my mom and I worked really hard on! This is good bread! We all hate Wonder Bread!”

My aunt stops in shock and the whole room goes silent. My mom looks like she is going to either murder me or hug me. I’m not sure if I am going to get punished or if my mom is going to thank me for intervening. 

Aunt: “I’m just trying to protect you kids from bad food! Your mother keeps feeding you foods that don’t have any vitamins in them because the food is too fresh! My mother always taught me that you should only use processed foods because they add vitamins to them. You can’t get vitamins in fresh food!”

I’m shocked that a ten-year-old knows more than a sixty-year-old. 

Me: “[Aunt], do you realize that food loses nutrients when it is processed and that fresh foods are almost always better than processed due to the high nutrient levels that naturally occur in most foods? They have to add vitamins because the manufacturing process depletes the natural nutrients in the raw ingredients! I learned that in science this year!”

I grab my science textbook from the living room and open it to the section on food science.

Me: “See, [Aunt]? Fresh food is better than processed!”

She starts to stammer.

Aunt: “Well, I never learned that! They didn’t teach that in the 1940s when I was in school! I left school when I was fourteen, so how was I supposed to know that science changed?”

She ended up dropping the subject. She actually ate several slices of the homemade bread and it looked like she liked it. She never repeated that stunt again!

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This Story Ramps Up Quickly

, , , | Friendly | December 22, 2020

‘Twas the morning of Christmas and all through the house, every family member was beginning to rouse. My cousin and I crept into the den, to see just what Santa had brought for us then. My cousin saw near my stocking a Pikachu skateboard, something he saw and decided he’d hoard.

Okay, I don’t want to keep rhyming this.

I’m spending Christmas with my entitled aunt and uncle and their kids. My little a**hole cousin sees the Pikachu skateboard and tells me he wants it.

Me: “I want a million bucks and a new car. Who died and made you God?”

The kid looks at me like I just put a parrot in a microwave — shocked and insulted yet still in awe.

Cousin: “Come on, man. You always get the cooler stuff. Look what I got, dude.”

He points to his stocking, full of candy and football stuff. He even got this year’s newest “Madden” game in there. I am in seventh grade and this kid is in fifth grade; he’s too old to cry over not getting his way on Christmas.

We creep back to his room, quietly arguing over who gets to keep the Pikachu skateboard under MY stocking.

Cousin: “You’re gonna give me that board. I’ll make you.”

Me: “Not a snowball’s chance in H***.”

We wait for our parents, grandma, and his older sister to wake up.

[Cousin] tries to act surprised at what he got for Christmas, but I don’t, because I just think it’s pointless to do that when you already know what you got. I get a good load this year, too.

[Cousin] tells his mom that he MIGHT wanna trade with me. His mother — my aunt — looks like Coraline’s mother. She turns her creepy Claymation-looking head to me.

Aunt: “Is it okay if you trade with your cousin?”

Me: “Depends. I totally want my skateboard.”

Cousin: “Well, that’s what I want.”

Me: “Eh, I’m not interested.”

Aunt: “Let’s wait until we open gifts. Then, you’ll all know what you have, and you’ll be able to change your mind.”

We open gifts. When my cousin asks AGAIN if I want to trade, I repeat myself again.

Me: “Nope, I think I’m fine with what I got.”

My mom tries to break up the situation.

Mom: “Son, go put your stuff in the car; we’re leaving after lunch.”

Cousin: *Screaming* “But I want what he got! I want that skateboard!”

He hides his face and starts acting like he’s crying. I still say no. At this point, my aunt looks at me like I farted in an elevator — offended and s*** on. My mother helps me take my stuff, grabbing the skateboard first.

Aunt:Wait! Can I look at the skateboard? I may just go buy the same one.”

She takes a picture of it with her flip phone.

After we put all our stuff in the car, we all decided to go back to sleep — all except my younger cousin, of course. I’m sleeping on the couch.

When we wake up from our siesta, it’s near lunchtime. The sandwiches that my mother and nana make at Christmas time are unlike anything else. Paired with pineapple pie, it’s like a party in your mouth.

I ask where my cousin is; his mother says he’s at a friend’s house playing football.

While we’re all eating, my cousin walks into the house. He’s got this LOOK on his face like he’s accomplished a difficult feat. He says he isn’t hungry. Okay, that’s weird coming from him; he almost always has an empty stomach. He avoids eye contact with me. I get suspicious, so I get up to look in the car to see if anything is missing.

Cousin: “No, wait!”

I open the car door. Apparently, [Cousin] took the car keys from my mom’s purse and unlocked the car with it, and he took my skateboard. But he didn’t just skate on it! He had, somehow and I don’t know how, managed to break the thing in TWO. And he thought I wouldn’t notice it if he tried to tape it back together with electrical tape. I was pissed, and I cried.

My cousin always has this “if I can’t have it, nobody can” motto. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so badly before in all my life.

Moral of the story: don’t let your kid be like Dudley Dursley.

Source: Reddit (Credit: Anonymous by request)

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No Teeth But Plenty Of Bite

, , , , , , , | Related | December 21, 2020

This story was told to me by my mother when I was older, but she still laughs about it today. 

When I was eighteen months old, I had my front four teeth removed due to an underlying condition. This occurs a few months later, after I have begun to learn how to speak. My grandma is watching me for the day, and one of our outings for the day is to take my uncle to work.

We are heading down the Trans-Canada Highway, which is always populated by semi-trucks. I am fascinated with these massive trucks and start pointing at them. Unfortunately, my uncle and grandma are having a conversation, and I am upset that they aren’t paying attention to me. After some time, this happens:

Me: “Gan’na!”

Grandma: “Hold on a second, [My Name]; your uncle and I are talking.”

Me: “But Gan’na!”

Grandma: *Sighs* “What is it?”

I point to a large car carrier that is carrying a bunch of pick-up trucks.

Me: “Look! F***s!”

My grandma gasps and my uncle bursts into laughter.

Grandma: “[My Name]! Where did you hear that word?!”

Me: “F***s?”

Grandma: “No! Stop saying that! You say it again and there will be no more Barney!”

Uncle: *Through tears and his cackles of laughter* “Mom, he’s saying, ‘Trucks’! He has no teeth, remember?!”

Grandma: “He shouldn’t be saying that dirty, filthy word!”

Uncle: “He can’t help it if he doesn’t have any teeth!”

Luckily, I went to speech therapy when I was old enough, and even though I still sometimes have a slight lisp and have to think about how to say a word before speaking, at least I don’t call trucks “F***s” anymore.

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