That Was Toe-Curlingly Close

, , , | Related | September 8, 2018

(I’m standing next to the door talking to my mom, and my dad bursts through the door. The door slides over my bare toes, and stops. I try to pull myself free, but I’m stuck.)

Dad: “I need to tell that—”

Me: “Argh! Help!”

Dad: “Move! What are you doing?”

Mom: “For God’s sake, help her!”

(He finally gets that I’m stuck and tries to lift the door, but it’s no good. My mom, who usually is calm, is hysterical.)

Mom: “Get her out! Take her to the hospital!”

(Finally, I pull free, and all my toes are scratched up bad and bleeding. I wiggle them a bit without pain.)

Dad: “She’s fine.”

Mom: “No, she’s not; all of them are broken! All!”

(My toes weren’t broken, which was lucky, since that would’ve been expensive and we were dirt poor. But I never let my Dad forget about that time he nearly cost us a lot!)

My Mother The Spaghetti Monster

, , , , , | Related | September 7, 2018

(I have lived as the person who did the cooking and cleaning for several years, before having to move back in with my mum due to circumstances. I’m in my late 20s. My mum is going out for dinner tonight.)

Mum: “I’ve put a single portion of Bolognese in the fridge for you for tea.”

Me: *used to her not allowing me to cook for myself* “Okay.”

Mum: “You just need to heat it up.”

Me: “Okay.”

Mum: “You need to heat it up slowly. Put it on a low heat, add a little water—”

Me: “Mum, I’ve heated Bolognese before.”

Mum: “Yes, well, you need to add a little—”

Me: “Mum. I’ve reheated it before. I’ve been reheating it since the age of fourteen, as it’s your go-to ‘I’m going to be out this evening; food is in the fridge’ item. You don’t need to tell me.”

(There is a pause.)

Mum: “There’s spaghetti in the cupboard. If you boil the kettle—”

Me: “I know how to do that, too! I AM AN ADULT!”

Mum: “But you’ll always be my little girl!”

(She proceeded to tell me how to cook spaghetti.)


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This Cousin Deserves To Be Boxed

, , , , | Related | September 6, 2018

(My grandmother is moving and the whole family is helping out. My dad asks his boss if he can borrow a few sturdy boxes, and it is approved, as long as the boxes get returned. One day, we return to the now empty house.)

Dad: “Has anyone seen my boxes?”

Cousin #1: “Oh, I tossed them out.”

Me, Sister, Cousin #2 & Dad: “TOSSED THEM OUT?!”

Sister: “We all knew these boxes had to return to my dad.”

Cousin #1: “Hey, I was busy! I have a lot of things on my mind! You know, I had to do everything on my own, and nobody helped!”

Dad: “Actually, we all offered to help multiple times, and you insisted on doing this on your own. Now what? My boss won’t accept, ‘Sorry.'”

Cousin #1: “You know, it’s always something with this family! How else did I have to move those books?”

Dad: “Use one of those other boxes, like the ones over there?! Or take them out?”

Cousin #1: “I’ve had it with this family. You guys always attack me. I’m out of here!”

(My cousin left. Meanwhile, Grandmother kept on asking where certain valuable things went. We don’t have any proof, but we think we know who took them, to sell at a black market. My cousin doesn’t have a job — and couldn’t keep one even if his life depended on it — and doesn’t live on welfare, but he keeps on posting pictures on Facebook of his new car every few months. We’ll have to keep this silent for Grandmother, though. She thinks her grandson had a rough past but is doing great now. Telling her of this would not be good for her heart.)

Shuffled Off This Mortal Highway

, , , , , | Working | September 6, 2018

(A few weeks ago, my 17-year-old son totaled his car. Today, I received an automated call from the dealership, reminding us that the car was past due for an oil change and tire rotation. I call them back to explain that the car has been totaled and that they need to remove our number from that system.)

Me: “Hi, I just received a call stating that we need to bring the car in for service.”

Dealership: “Okay, we can schedule you for next Tuesday. How’s 9:00?”

Me: “No, I’m sorry, but the car was totaled in an accident. We don’t need service on it anymore.”

Dealership: “All cars need service, ma’am, to ensure they run properly and to keep your warranty valid.”

Me: “You’re not listening to me. The car was totaled. It’s dead. It doesn’t need service anymore.”

Dealership: “I can probably fit you in on Friday at 2:00, but you may need to wait.”

Me: “Again, you’re not listening. The car is dead. It was hauled off to the junkyard. It will never need servicing again. I’d like you to remove us from the calling list since we no longer own the car.”

Dealership: “You don’t own the car?”

Me: “Not anymore.”

Dealership: *long pause* “Who did you sell it to? We can arrange service for them.”

Me: *trying to remain calm* “We didn’t sell it. It was totaled in an accident. Do you know what ‘totaled’ means?”

Dealership: “I—”

Me: “It’s dead. It was in a fatal accident. The entire right side was smashed up and a wheel fell off. The insurance company officially totaled the car, and it’s now in a junkyard. Why is that so hard for you to understand? We no longer own the car and we don’t need to receive any more maintenance reminder calls.”

(She finally gets the message, and takes down my name and the vehicle type.)

Dealership: “Can I get your phone number in case someone needs to call you back?”

Me: “What for? The car’s dead. Stop calling us to schedule maintenance. There’s no need for anyone to call us back for anything.”

(I had never before been in a situation where I felt the desire to start quoting Monty Python’s Dead Parrot sketch, but if she couldn’t understand what it means to call a car dead or totaled, she certainly wouldn’t have understood if I started calling it an “ex-car.”)

See You Later, Alligator!

, , , , , | Friendly | September 5, 2018

(I’m with a few friends, hanging out at one of their houses. This friend lives near a couple of freshwater lakes. We’re out walking around the neighborhood near one of the lakes. I see a set of eyes pop out of the water at the other end of the lake.)

Me: “What’s that?” *points in the direction of the eyes*

Friend #1: “Where? I don’t see anything.”

Friend #2: “Oh, don’t worry. There’s no gators around here.”

(The eyes start slowly moving closer. I see an alligator snout pop out of the water.)

Me: “Y’all don’t see that?

Friend #1: “Oh, now I see it. Huh. I guess there is a gator around here. Don’t worry. It’s not moving very fast.”

Me: “That’s because it’s stalking its prey. And I’m pretty sure that we are its prey!”

Friend #2: “I don’t think so.”

(I glance over and the eyes and snout have edged closer. I start jogging away.)

Friend #2: “What are you doing?”

Me: “I grew up around here. I learned about what to do in case of a gator. I don’t have to outrun it. I just have to outrun both of you.”

(My friends looked at each other, then at the gator, and started jogging toward me.)

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