(We’re all a little odd in my family. I’m in the dining room, when my mum walks in laughing her head off. On her hand is a paper bag, which she has turned inside out and drawn an owl on. I leave the room, and walk into the lounge. My brother is there; he looks up at me.)

Me: “We never stood a chance…”

(My mom and I are visiting my grandmother for a few days. We help her make dinner, and sit down to eat. I can’t help noticing how she watches how I hold my fork.)

Grandmother: “I am so glad you don’t hold your fork like your brother!”

(My brother holds his fork with an outstretched pinky finger.)

Me: “What do you mean? Oh, the whole pinky thing? Yeah, I guess it’s a little weird.”

Grandmother: “Yes! I’m worried that when he does it, people will think he’s queer!”

(There is an awkward silence. I put down my fork.)

Me: “Um… what?”

Grandmother: “Queer! You know… gay!”

Mother: “We know what queer means, mother!”

(My mother and I were pretty weirded out by that statement. The kicker? I came out as a lesbian a couple of years after my grandmother’s passing, and I sure didn’t hold my fork the ‘queer’ way!)

(My mother has just started a new job, and has decided that it calls for a clothing shopping spree. She comes home and shows us a pile of formal jackets she bought.)

Mum: “So, there’s this one…”

Dad: “Very white.”

Mum: “And this one…”

Dad: “Very beige.”

Mum: “And there’s this one…”

Dad: “Very pink.”

Mum: “And there’s this one…”

Dad: “Very blue.”

Mum: “And this one!”

Dad: “Very black.”

(He’s solved one of the greatest traps for men in relationships!)

(I am doing dishes, and my boyfriend comes up behind me and gives me a hug.)

Me: “You’re in the perfect position to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Well, now that I think about it, why are they called sweet nothings? That doesn’t make any sense!”

Boyfriend: *whispering* “Candied zeros. Sugary oblivion. Chocolate nirvana. Frosted emptiness…”

(My husband and I can’t decide whether to try for a second child this month, and we end up agreeing to use ‘rock, paper, scissors’ as the deciding factor. We’re both on the fence about it.)

Husband: “Okay. If I win, it’s a no. If you win, we’ll go for it.”

Me: “Sounds good to me! We’ll go one, two, three, then shoot.”

(The game ensues.)

Husband: “Rock!”

Me: “Spock! Spock vaporizes rock! I win!”

Husband: “Live long and procreate?”