The Easter Bunny And St. Valentine Attended Jesus’ Birth

, , , , , , | Right | May 11, 2018

(At my work, if product comes in, it goes straight to the floor; no holding or back stock is allowed. In the beginning of December, we start to receive Easter product. I am putting it out in our holiday section, right by Christmas, when a man approaches me. He seems agitated, stops a few inches from me, and faces me with his arms tightly crossed. I stay polite as I respond to him.)

Customer: “I can’t believe you are putting up Easter stuff.”

Me: “Well, it’s my job, not my choice. They send it, and I have to put it out; I have no warehouse or backroom to keep it in.”

Customer: “He isn’t even born yet and you are already killing him!”

(Apparently, by doing my job and setting product on a shelf, I personally killed Jesus before he was born.)

That Pretty Much Covers It

, , , , | Healthy | February 24, 2018

(My mother is in her sixties, and while not incredibly vain, she can’t help but be a little interested in various plastic surgical procedures. Since she has gotten to know a plastic surgeon through the ballroom dance club she helps run with my dad, she goes to his office one day for a consultation. I happen to call her the afternoon after her appointment. Also note that my three siblings and I were all born via medically necessary C-sections, and my mom is ten years in remission for a mild form of lymphoma.)

Me: “So, how did it go?”

Mother: “It was fine. But I have to tell you, I don’t think this is for me.”

Me: “Oh? What makes you say that?”

Mother: “Probably the fact that I’m not in the mood to have a more extensive medical procedure just to look pretty than I did to beat cancer or have four children!”

(I have no problem with anyone who chooses to have plastic surgery — it’s your body, after all — but I couldn’t fault my mom’s rationale, and it did make me laugh. Just one of the many reasons I love this lady so much!)

Not An Exercise In Futility

, , , , , , , | Related | February 16, 2018

(One spring, my ten-year-old brother starts campaigning for a puppy. My parents tell him, “We’ll see,” until summer vacation, at which point they show him a large chart.)

Brother: “What’s this?”

Mom: “This is your puppy earning chart. If you want that dog, you’re going to earn him.”

Brother: “Like, with my allowance?”

Dad: “No, with work. Dogs are a lot of work, and we’re not getting one until you prove to us that you will take care of him. We’ll help, of course, but you want the dog, so you have to do the work.”

Mom: “This chart has two parts. One for exercise, and one for chores. Every day this summer that you go out and walk around the neighborhood, at least a mile, you get an exercise check. And every day that you do your chores without us having to nag you, you get a chore check.”

Brother: “Because… dogs need walking! And feeding, and playtime, and stuff!”

Dad: “Exactly. So, if you get both checks on fifty or more days this summer, you’ve proved yourself, and you get what you want. Deal?”

Brother: “Deal!”

(“Treasure” the golden retriever came home with my brother the following fall.)

Not Sure We Beer-lieve You

, , , , , , , | Related | February 11, 2018

(I’m a preteen in this story. My friend and I are sitting in the basement chatting when my four-year-old brother comes tearing through at top speed.)

Me: “Hey, [Brother]. Where are you going so fast?”

Brother: “I’m getting a beer for Mommy! She needs it right away!”

(My friend stares at me, wide-eyed.)

Me: “She’s making dinner, I swear.”

Friend: “Okay, if you say so.”

(Fortunately, my friend stuck around for dinner, and greatly enjoyed my mom’s signature beer-braised chicken with barley and vegetables!)

Has Certain Memories PINNED

, , , , , | Related | October 9, 2017

(My mom takes me out for a morning of errands with her, and is trying to figure out what order to do things in.)

Mom: “We need groceries, and you wanted a new notebook, and your dad asked if I could check on the price of sand for him… but I’ll have to go to the ATM first, and there’s always a line this time of day.”

Me: “I could go to the ATM for you, and meet you at the grocery store.”

Mom: “That’s sweet, honey, but to use the ATM you’d have to know my–”

Me: *recites my mother’s four-digit PIN code*

Mom: “How did you know that?!”

Me: “By watching you enter it every couple weeks since I was five?”

Mom: *hands me ATM card* “Get $300.”

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