My mom has a history of giving animals away when they turn out to have a flaw or when she grows tired of them. I hate this habit, especially since I grew close to a certain dog and she gave her away just because she got old.

When I move out, I finally get my own dog. He’s up there in years. One day, I start noticing that he’s not eating or pooping, so I take him to the vet. She finds some of my hair in his intestines — I have really long, thick hair — and does surgery on him to get it out.

A few months later, I need to go on a business trip, and I ask my mom to take care of my dog. When I come back, though, I notice that he’s not around. 

Me: “Where’s [Dog]?”

Mom: “Oh, I gave him back to the shelter.”

Me: “YOU WHAT?! MOM, HE WASN’T EVEN YOUR DOG! THERE WAS NOTHING WRONG WITH HIM! YOU ALWAYS DO THIS TO ALL OUR PETS! HE DIDN’T EVEN BELONG TO YOU! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID THIS! I’LL NEVER ASK YOU TO PET SIT FOR ME AGAIN! I WANT YOU TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW!”

Mom: *Pauses* “You’re right. It was a stupid thing to do. But in my defense, he’s old.”

I called around and finally heard from a shelter known for killing their animals, and when I explained what happened, they gave him back to me with an apology and admitted they probably should have investigated a little more.

I still haven’t spoken to my mom in almost four years. My dog is doing well and has recovered from his ordeal. I still haven’t forgiven my mom for all the crap she’s pulled. If you choose to take care of an animal, you are responsible for it. Don’t give an animal away just because it’s getting old, or you’re moving, or getting another pet, or even having a baby. It’s wrong and cruel to the animal and everyone who loves it.

My seven-year-old and I will sometimes pretend to have an argument. For example, I might ask her to clean her room and she’ll dramatically sigh, “You’re the worst mother ever!”

One recent fake fight ended like this.

Me: “Go wash your face.”

Seven-Year-Old: “Never!”

Me: “Always! How did you get ketchup on your forehead, anyway? Were you trying to feed your hair?”

Seven-Year-Old: “You’re rude!”

Me: “Yeah, well, your mom’s rude!”

Seven-Year-Old: “But you— Wait, what?”

My dad starts taking a liking to a few video games when I am just starting high school, and he usually asks me for any help with them. However, he has a quick temper whenever I help him.

A clear example of this is when a popular game re-releases with a special edition. My dad asks me how to deal with the inventory space within the game.

Dad: “So, how do you work with the inventory? How can I get my sword quickly?”

Me: “Oh, that’s easy! You press E, and then you press Y on whatever item you want quickly. It’s called Favorites. And, actually, we can take it further by numbering them so it is a lot faster. So, with your sword, you can number it—”

Dad: “Stop! STOP! You’re controlling my game!”

Me: “…”

My partner and I stop at a motor museum on our way back from our holidays. The museum is a smaller, countryside one, where the vehicles aren’t fully barred off but staged in scenes with props.

Shortly after we arrive, a family starts following us through the museum. The kids seem disinterested, but no big deal; it’s not exactly thrilling for a group of five kids that seem about three to thirteen years old.

Then, we notice that the two older girls are touching the cars — the multi-million-pound, carefully preserved vintage cars.

Still, no big deal. Kids touch stuff; they like to push boundaries. We figure the parents will say something. But they don’t. Instead, the mum joins in, prodding and poking this and that. The dad is ignoring them all and racing ahead like he’s trying to escape.

Then, the kids start opening doors, climbing inside the cars, reaching in, and pulling out the historic props. My partner and I are exchanging incredulous looks, but being British, we’re both too awkward to say anything to them — the same as everyone else. Plus, I haven’t noticed any super obvious “Do Not Touch” signs yet, so I think, “Maybe they don’t know they aren’t meant to touch them.”

Then, one of the girls grabs an antique windscreen wiper and starts pulling it up and down. The toddler is now pounding his fist on the cars. The parents don’t bat an eye. In fact, the mum starts fiddling with a bike.

We just look at each other in disbelief. One of the kids has literally been leaning on a “Please do not touch the vehicles!” sign on top of an antique bike seat.

My partner and I look at each other, and then we hear a clink. We turn around and the father is desperately trying to re-attach a headlight to the kind of car you see billionaires driving in black and white movies. The mum is chastising the toddler, who looks utterly perplexed, and snapping at the older girls for touching things.

The dad gets the headlight to stay and they hastily rush off. We start looking for a member of the museum staff. Before they leave, we see all the kids climb inside an antique toy car and try to “make it go.”

We don’t catch a member of staff until after they have left, and I feel a little bad for not speaking up as I feel other visitors would’ve backed us up. But seriously, if you can’t behave inside a museum, how do you expect your kids to know what to do?

I am a receptionist at a secondary school. This happens during December 2020, when we have several students and staff contracting a well-known illness. Every day, more students are having to go home and isolate and MOST of them are doing their best to stick to the rules.

The phone rings.

Me: “Hello, [School]. How can I help?”

Caller: “Hi, I’m the mother of [Student]. I’ve just had her test result back and it’s positive.”

Me: “Okay, I’m sorry to hear that. Thanks for letting us know. Could I speak to [Student] to get a list of her close friends as they will need to self-isolate?”

Caller: “What do you mean? She’s not here; she’s in school.”

Me: “Excuse me? You sent her into school whilst waiting for her test result?!”

After spending a few seconds headdesking, I told the parent to come and pick up her child immediately and rushed up to collect them. I realise the rules are confusing, but the guidance — and common sense — is clear that if you are tested, you need to stay at home until you get your result!