The Ugly Truth
Me: “I want to get bangs again.”
Mom: “No, you look ugly with bangs.”
Me: “But all my friends say I look better with bangs!”
Mom: “Your friends want you to be ugly.”
Me: “I want to get bangs again.”
Mom: “No, you look ugly with bangs.”
Me: “But all my friends say I look better with bangs!”
Mom: “Your friends want you to be ugly.”
(I have just returned from a vacation on which I severely sunburnt my nose. My boyfriend is sad that he can no longer bop me on the nose because it is ‘broken’.)
Boyfriend: “It isn’t broken like a broken bone, though. Just broken in the sense that it isn’t really a nose anymore.”
Me: “Did you just call me Voldemort?”
(My sister is watching women’s football on TV. She’s never watched football before, but is watching it because it’s part of the 2012 London Olympics.)
Sister: “Ooh, she’s good!”
Me: “They’re all good. This is the Olympics.”
Sister: “Yeah, but she’s particularly good.”
Me: “How could you possibly know that?”
Sister: “There’s lots of cheering. She must be!”
This story is part of the Olympics roundup!
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Read the Olympics roundup!
(I am a very clumsy person. I often trip over things, and it’s become a joke how every time I enter a room you hear a ‘thump’, followed by an ‘ow’. I have just come home from my first semester at college, and there are new gates in the kitchen with small rims. In the first two hours I trip over them at least five times.)
Me: *trip* “Ow! I keep tripping over these stupid gates.”
Step-mom: “Oh! That’s what we’ve been missing while she’s at school!”
Dad: “What?”
Step-mom: “The ‘Thump, Ow!’”
Me: “Seriously?”
Dad: “Oh, yeah! You’re right!”
Me: “Whatever. It’s the gate! I’m not used to them!”
Step-mom: “Your baby sister, who can barely walk, gets over them just fine.”
Me: “Well… she’s, uh, used to them?”
Dad: “We just put them up a few days ago.”
Me: “Oh, whatever.”
(A few moments later, I trip over again.)
Step-mom: “Thump!”
Dad: “Ow!”
(My sister is prone to talk to herself. She does it so frequently we never know who exactly she is talking to.)
Dad: “She is always having a conversation with herself. Think she talks about herself in the third person?”
Me: “I wonder if she argues with herself.”
Sister: “No, she doesn’t!”