(A gem once said by my racist mother:)

Mom: “You know, that’s just so wrong! How can they stand for this?! There’s no way it should have been allowed!”

Me: “What do you mean, Mom? Everyone knows that he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and only imprisoned because he opposed their racist government!”

Mom: *looking at me condescendingly like I’m extremely naive* “Oh, really, [My Name]! What difference does that make to any right-thinking person?! What matters is that he spent decades in prison! How can any civilized country elect a man as president who’s spent decades in prison?! He’s clearly unsuitable after that! It’s just wrong!”

(Yes, she was talking about Nelson Mandela, when he and his presidency were once mentioned on the news.)

My family moved into a new house in the mid to late 90s. Being a teenager, the first thing I did was set up our computer and get AOL running. At some point later in the day, my mom went to use the phone, and instead of a dial tone, there was a weird beeping. She was convinced I had gone on the Internet and somehow downloaded a virus to our phone line, and there was nothing I could do to convince her otherwise.

She then made me call up technical support and sit on hold for over an hour to get the virus out of our phone. I was a shy kid who hated being on the phone talking to strangers, anyway, much less when I knew the thing I had to ask was moronic. So, when I finally got a tech on the line, I couldn’t stop cringing as I explained the “problem” to them. Shockingly, their response was that it wasn’t possible to get a virus on a phone line. Somehow them saying it was acceptable.

Oh, and we found out later that the person that previously had the phone line had set up voicemail on the line, and that beeping instead of dial tone was used to indicate a message had been left.

(When I was a child, we lived in a suburban neighborhood with older houses built close together. One year, my mother gets “puppy fever” and adopts a German Shepherd. She and the dog bond instantly, and she becomes overprotective of him. That same year, a family of opossums moves into our backyard. When our dog is outside, the opossums sit on the back fence and hiss at him. They are too high up for him to reach, so he angrily barks at them. My mother becomes enraged, as well, that the opossums are taunting her “baby,” and tries to chase them off with a broom, but each night they return. One night, we hear the dog begin to bark at the fence, and Mother jumps to her feet, yelling, “That’s it!” As we watch in horror, she retrieves my father’s shotgun from the closet, marches outside, and begins shooting at the back fence. Having little experience with guns, she misses the opossums completely, but does manage to hit the neighbor’s garage.)

Neighbor: *running outside* “Oh, my God! What’s wrong?”

Mom: “Mind your own business!”

(My mother passed away in May of this year. My brother and I shared this story at her funeral: she was incorrigible to the end, and we think she would have approved.)

(I am on the phone with my long-term boyfriend. My mum comes in my room and is trying to get me to go somewhere or do something with her.)

Me: “I can’t, Mum. I’m talking to [Boyfriend]; his brother just had a seizure and is in hospital right now. He’s not doing well.”

Mum: “[Boyfriend] is in hospital?”

Me: “No, his brother.”

Mum: “Then why do you care?” *walks off*

(It’s been four years, and my now-husband still hasn’t quite forgiven her for that comment.)

(My mom and I are standing in the kitchen, talking. Two of the cats, brothers, have followed us, and are making pests of themselves, presumably begging for treats. One of them has a habit of licking and chewing on my arm when I scratch him in a certain spot. I bend down to pet him, but because of the angle, he can’t reach me, so he lightly bites the next closest thing: his brother’s butt. My mom and I giggle, but then the one that was nipped turns around and lightly kicks the other in the side. This sends us into full-blown laughter as my dad walks in.)

Dad: “What’s so funny?”

Mom: *catching her breath* “Oh, the cats are just being funny.”

Dad: “Oh. Excuse me.”

(He reaches around my mom to grab a plate from the cabinet, and my mom takes the opportunity to poke him in the belly.)

Dad: “Hey!” *pinches my mom on the rear*

(Gee, I wonder where the cats learned it from!)