(It is a family tradition to sit around the TV together and watch the opening ceremonies for the Olympics. It is the London 2012 ceremony, where each country walks into the stadium and is announced in alphabetical order.)

Dad: “Uh, why hasn’t America marched yet? We’ve already passed the A’s!”

(We are all speechless, but out of respect for the family patriarch, we say nothing, but my mother shouts to us from the kitchen.)

Mom: “It’s United! United States! Idiot!”

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(I’m a 19-year-old girl. My uncle, whom I haven’t seen since I was 12, is visiting my parents. I walk into the dining room carrying a glass of milk.)

Uncle: *to me* “Milk, huh? Very healthy. Hoping you’ll get to be as tall as your mom?”

(My mother enters and stands beside me. The top of her head is roughly level with my chin.)

Mom: “I know you haven’t seen her in a long time, big brother, but I’d think you’d at least remember how tall I am.”

(I have a habit of pretending to bite my fiancée, which she finds both disturbing and amusing. This conversation takes place after I have bitten her on the arm.)

Me: “If I were a zombie, you’d shoot me, right?”

Fiancée: *stares at me* “You say that like I’d be able to tell the difference!”

Husband: “Honey, can we do it?”

Me: “Only if you turn me on.”

(My husband proceeds to flick my nipple.)

Me: “Wrong boob!”

(He flicks the other one.)

Me: “Can’t turn me on if the off switch is on!”

(He flicks the first one again.)

Husband: “Can we do it now?”

Me: “Yes.”

(My mom and I don’t always communicate well. She is asking me about an odd rash I’ve had for a while. I finally go to the dermatologist and she is asking about the results.)

Mom: “So, what’s going on with your hands?”

Me: “Oh it’s Granuloma Annular. That’s fancy talk for ‘Ugly Rash They Can’t Fix’.”

Mom: “You just need more vitamins!”

Me: “Uh, no. That’s not it.”

Mom: “How do you know?”

Me: “Because the specialist said that they don’t know what causes it. There is no cure. I’m trying some home remedies to reduce the redness. That’s it.”

Mom: “No! You just need more vitamins!”

Me: “What? Why? I eat well and…”

Mom: “That’s ridiculous!”

Me: “Fine. I’ll take more vitamins and that will magically cure this incurable skin disease. You’re right, of course.”

Mom: *completely oblivious to my sarcasm* “That’s right.”