(I’m about to melt butter in the microwave, when my mum stops me. My mum is rather gullible, and tends to believe any scare story she reads or hears about.)

Mum: “Don’t melt it in the microwave! Here, I’ll heat it up on the stove for you.”

Me: “Mum… microwaves aren’t dangerous. In fact, if used properly it can actually retain more nutrients in the food. It’s because the cooking time is shorter than on the stove, and less nutrients are lost by evaporation.”

Mum: “That’s what you think.”

(Wanting to show her proof, I quickly do a bit of research on my laptop.)

Me: “See? Here’s the research paper from Harvard University telling you what I just said.”

Mum: “Well obviously you’re only going to find articles reporting that microwave cooking is safe and beneficial. Any negative results aren’t going to be published, because otherwise the government would lose money selling microwaves!”

(My dad asks me to go to a nearby store and get milk, and also do the dishes. He comes up from the basement to see me standing at the sink.)

Dad: “What are you doing?”

Me: *deadpan* “Vacuuming.”

Dad: “…Oh, hush. Did you get the milk?”

(The only thing on the counter is the empty bag from the nearby store, which is well in my dad’s line of sight. I look at the bag, then at my dad, back at the bag, back at my dad, then down at the sink again.)

Me: “No, the bag is an illusion.”

Dad: “…smart-a**.”

(My boyfriend and I are discussing a Disney-Princess themed party I will be attending.)

Me: “Who should I be?”

Boyfriend: “Well, you could be Beauty—”

Me: “I was thinking—”

Boyfriend: “—’cause I’m a BEAST!”

Me: “Nah, I was thinking I could be Princess Leia.”

Boyfriend: “…even better!”

(My fiancé and I are very good friends with another couple, and are very close with both of them. He has just spent the evening gaming online with the husband while I text the wife, joking about them. I am lying in bed talking to my fiancé afterward.)

Me: “So Sarah and I were joking about you and Tom having a bromance.”

Fiancé: “Yeah, yeah we do.”

Me: “We were also joking about what it would be like if we lived together.”

Fiancé: “Oh, God! To survive, you and Sarah would have to have a… lesbian relationship.”

Me: “What?!”

Fiancé: “I was going to say ‘sistance’, but that just sounds like some terrible STD. So I said lesbian relationship instead.”

Me: “I don’t think Sarah and I are going to have a lesbian relationship, honey.”

Fiancé: “Yeah, I didn’t think so either, but it sounded better than ‘sistance’!”

(My tiny two-year-old daughter excitedly runs up to me.)

Daughter: “Mummy, can I tell you a secret?”

Me: “Sure, you can.”

(I bend over so my daughter can whisper in my ear. Unexpectedly, she speaks in a low, demonic whisper.)

Daughter: “I. Killed. Mufasa.”

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