Mom: “Help me find something for your sister for Christmas. She’s so hard to shop for; whatever I get her is never quite right.”

Me: “A graphic novel? She likes Brian Vaughn. Or a DVD? There’s some cartoon series she’s into.”

Mom: “No comic books or cartoons; she’s not a child anymore.”

Me: “A bottle of good bourbon?”

Mom: “I’m not giving my daughter liquor for Christmas!”

Me: “Uh… fancy bath stuff from that weird shop she likes?”

Mom: “No, I want to get her something useful.”

Me: “A cookbook? She loves cookbooks.”

Mom: “She has too many cookbooks already.”

Me: “Maybe something else for her kitchen? Her mother-in-law gave her a pasta machine for her birthday and she loved it.”

Mom: “But she doesn’t need those things.”

Me: “A new vacuum cleaner?”

Mom: “What she really needs is nicer clothes to wear to work.”

Me: *internally face-palming* “So… you already knew what you wanted to get her.”

Mom: “But whenever I get her clothes she never really likes them.”

Me: *going from internal face-palming to internal screaming* “So you’re asking me to, what, magically make her like the clothes you pick out?”

Mom: “Just help me find her a present she’ll like!”

(We then went to a department store that I know my sister does not shop at; every time I suggested an item of clothing I thought my sister would conceivably wear, Mom insisted it was not right. She ended up choosing a sweater which wouldn’t fit, and which my sister will end up exchanging for new socks.)

(I work for a pediatric dental practice. We are currently at our surgical center where kids get put to sleep so we can do all of the work necessary. There’s loads of paperwork, normal doctor check-ups, and numerous confirmations that patients’ parents need to go through before we see them. We have a two-year-old girl that needs work on every single tooth; she’s been on our waitlist for surgery for two months. We are about to bring her back to the OR.)

Nurse: “Okay, sweetheart, time to say bye to Mommy.”

Mom: *looking so confused* “Wait, why is she saying bye?”

Nurse: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you aren’t allowed into the OR for sterilization purposes.”

Mom: “But how is she supposed to fall asleep without me reading her a story?”

Nurse: “The anesthesiologist–”

Mom: “The what?!”

(My middle school participates in a program that involves students helping out at a function for younger kids. I’m assigned to help in the petting zoo, which I’m really excited about since I love animals. I’m telling my mom about it afterward.)

Me: “They had a bunch of bunnies and a cranky alpaca. And there was this little calf named Valentine. He was so cute! He even sucked on my fingers!”

Mom: “Wait, what?”

Me: “Cows don’t have top teeth so he couldn’t bite me; he just sniffed at my fingers and then he started sucking. I swear I just melted. It was so cute!”

Mom: “That’s disgusting.”

Me: “It was adorable!”

(I still feel happy when I remember that little cow trusting me enough to suck on my fingers.)

(I was assigned female at birth but am experimenting with gender presentation. I am currently trying to tie a tie as part of a formal business outfit. This is taking a while, as I keep messing it up. My mother sees me.)

Mum: “Don’t wear a tie. The older ladies will think you’re wearing a costume.”

Me: “I never thought of it that way. Should I wear a necklace, instead?”

Mum: “That would be perfect.”

(I ended up going to the meeting wearing a very pretty necklace, a chest binder, and a sock packer.)

(I work for a kids camp at a college. We are the typical rich kids camp, so we get a lot of stress from parents throughout the whole summer. But some parents just leave us with gem-like stories.)

Me: “Okay. Does your child have any allergies that we should be aware of?”

Mom: “Nope! Our little boy is like Superman! Nothing can hurt him!”

Dad: *stays quiet*

Me: “All right, then! I’ve got everything I need. I think you are good to go! Have a nice day.”

Mom: “Thanks!” *phone rings* “Oh. I’ll meet you guys outside. I have to take this.” *runs outside*

Dad: *to me* “Um… Can you actually wait a second?”

Me: “Yes?”

Dad: “My son is actually allergic to bee stings.”

Me: “Wait, seriously? How come she said he was ‘Superman’?”

Son: “She thinks it’s a ‘flaw’ and is embarrassed about it.”

Me: “Oh… well, no worries, man. I won’t tell anyone, but make sure you have your medicine with you.”

Dad & Son: “Thanks!” *leaves*

Coworker: “Wait… if she doesn’t like to admit he has an allergy, then how did they get medicine?”

Me: “I’m either gonna say in secret or the black market.”