(I work at a popular tourist attraction in the UK. In order to visit, you need to have a membership that is paid annually. Children under six do not need a membership and get in for free, but once they reach six years old they are added on to their parent’s membership which increases the cost by about 25%. A family has just come in with a young girl. I check their membership and see that only the two adults are on the membership, not the child. As per policy, I need to ask if the child is old enough.)

Me: “Hello, sweetheart! And how old are you, then?”

Young Girl: “I’m five years old!” *holds up her hand to display five fingers*

Me: “Okay, that’s great! If you guys want to—”

(She turns to her dad with the proudest expression on her face.)

Young Girl: “I did it, Daddy! I told the lady I was five and not six like I am! Do I get an ice cream now?”

(I have never seen anyone look so embarrassed in my life as those parents. The whole thing amused me so much that I let the girl in for free, anyway, but I left a note on their membership account for next time they visit that the little girl needs to be added and paid for.)

(My two sons, ages seven and nine, are brats. I cannot get them to clean up after themselves. This becomes a greater concern when it’s announced that the family Christmas this year will be at the home of my sister and her husband. They are very wealthy, very house-proud, and childfree — by choice and very happy about it! During past visits, I would run about clearing up after my boys. My sister is not a Nazi at all about it — she often tells me to sit down and have my wine and stop worrying — but the house is so beautiful I can’t help myself. This year, I decide on another attempt to teach the boys to respect other people’s houses.)

Me: “You can’t make a mess at Aunty’s house over Christmas.”

Sons: *collective eye roll*

Me: “I’m serious. I don’t want to spend the entire holiday running around after you two. I don’t expect perfection, but you’ve got to make an effort.”

Son #1: “Well, can we swim in the pool?”

Me: “Yes.”

Son #2: “Can we play on the tennis court?”

Me: “Yes.”

Son #1: “Can we play with [Uncle]’s VR? 

(My sister’s husband has a PlayStation with VR set up in his mancave.)

Me: “Yes.”

Son #2: “I don’t know what you’re worried about. We won’t ever be inside the house!”

(I am crossing all my appendages that my sons’ quite reasonable logic translates into reality!)

I grew up in Massachusetts, and as a kid, we would get snow days where we would have the day off from school due to the large amount of snow we would get in the winter. 

One day, I overheard my parents talking about putting salt on the ground to melt the ice. We went out later that evening to shovel. I took the salt shaker off the kitchen table and shook the salt to try to melt the snow.

I was that kid that took things very literally.

(I am in line at a fast food restaurant during their Breakfast With Santa event. A woman comes in with her three- or four-year-old daughter. Mom points to Santa and asks the girl who it is.)

Little Girl: “I don’t know.”

Mom: “Yes, you do; it’s Santa.”

Little Girl: “That is not Santa; that is a people.”

Mom: “Santa is a person.”

Little Girl: “Santa is not a people. Santa is Santa. People like to play dress up because it’s fun. We will take a picture to make Grandma happy.”

(I am a customer in this story. In New York, we have a chain of convenience stores that also serves really good ice cream. I am there getting ice cream and a woman walks in with her husband and two daughters, about six and four years old.)

Six-Year-Old: *to the cashier* “May I please have a scoop of chocolate ice cream in a cone?”

Cashier: “Certainly.” *to the four-year-old* “And what would you like?”

Four-Year-Old: “I just want a cone, please!”

Mother: “No, [Four-Year-Old], you have to get something in the cone.”

Four-Year-Old: “But I just want the cone!”

Mother: “No, you have to get something in the cone.”

Four-Year-Old: *looks like she’s about to cry* “I just want the cone!”

Mother: *to the cashier* “She’ll have chocolate, too.”

Four-Year-Old: *upset* “I just want the cone!”

(The family got their ice cream and went to sit down and eat it. The daughter ate her ice cream, but was very grumpy about it.)