(I’m cutting up onions to go with dinner. After doing a good job with the first one, I’m starting to tear up pretty bad. My mum walks in.)
Mum: “It’s not the onions, is it? Go on, you can tell me.”
Me: “It is the onions! They’re saying very mean things!”
Mum: “Those mother-f******! Chop them! Chop them I say! Chop their balls off!”
(My sister and I are big Broadway fans. My dad decides to surprise us by getting the family tickets to see “Avenue Q.”)
Me: “Four tickets for…” *gasps* “Avenue Q!”
Dad: “Yup!”
Me: “AAAGH, OH, MY GOD, YES! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!”
(I start flailing happily. My sister comes running down the stairs.)
Sister: “What’s wrong?”
Me: “AVENUE Q TICKETS!”
Sister: “SHUT UP!”
Me: “YES!”
Sister: “OH, MY GOD!”
Aunt: “What’s Avenue Q?”
Dad: “Oh, no…”
Me: “YOU’RE JOKING!”
(My aunt has a sudden look of fear.)
Me: “IT’S LIKE SESAME STREET—”
Sister: “FOR ADULTS—”
Me: “AND THEY TALK ABOUT ADULT STUFF—”
Sister: “LIKE SEX—”
Me: “AND GAY PEOPLE—”
Sister: “AND LOSING JOBS—”
Me: “AND GARY COLEMAN—”
(My sister and I continue shouting broken sentences at my aunt as she shrinks down in fear.)
Me: “DOESN’T IT SOUND AMAZING?!”
Aunt: “You know what… never mind. I’ll just look it up myself.”
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Me: “I totally need to set my phone ringtone to the T.A.R.D.I.S landing noise.”
Partner: “You can’t do that! If the Doctor actually comes, you’ll think it’s your phone. I think that if one of us ever becomes the Doctor’s companion, we have to come back for the other one.”
Me: “Agreed. Hey, what if one of us did go with the Doctor, and there was a time loop that precluded the other from joining us?”
Partner: “I would cry.”
Me: “I would, too.”
(I pause for a moment.)
Me: “Or what if you did come back for me, but you were in an alternate timeline where I died and you had to turn back time and not take me with you, but you couldn’t tell me that?”
Partner: “If that happened I don’t think I would go with the Doctor at all.”
Me: “…aww, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”
(I am a baby, and my family is moving home. My big sister’s boyfriend is helping. He’s slim, but rather strong. He also has long hair. He can lift items himself that others need two people to lift. Our neighbor sees us, and she has two little boys.)
Neighbor’s Older Son: “Wow, that man is strong! But he doesn’t look bigger than anyone else.”
Neighbor’s Younger Son: “He’s strong because he has long hair!”
Neighbor’s Older Son: “I want to be strong, too! I want long hair!”
(We’re teenagers now. The older neighbor has long hair, and he is my boyfriend. He’s trying to pick up a sofa chair, the same one my sister’s boyfriend had lifted himself.)
Boyfriend: “Wow, I can’t lift this myself!”
Me: “It’s heavy.”
Boyfriend: “But I have long hair now.”
Me: “Did you really think that would actually make you strong?”
Boyfriend: “Well I wished it did. So, now what?”
Me: “Weight lifting?”
Boyfriend: “I guess that’s the only option. I’ll start going to the gym.”
Me: “So, are you going to keep your hair?”
Boyfriend: “Yes! So other little boys can see me!”
(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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