(My brother, who is months away from adulthood, is trying to confront my mum on the issue of her regularly employing emotional blackmail to get him to do what she wants. It has made him miserable enough that it’s impacted his morale and made him less willing to study, not more. He decides to bring it up with her. My dad and I are in the same room, although we’ve mostly been quiet so that he can do the talking on his own behalf. I have seen enough of these “interventions” with my mum to know that unless my brother is willing to firmly enforce the boundaries he’s trying to set, any change in behaviour from my mum will be lucky to last a week. As such, although I’ve always tried to encourage my brother to stand his ground, I have grown rather weary and cynical towards these family meetings, and I’ve particularly run out of patience for my mum’s excuses or “defenses.” At this point, they have been discussing and arguing, practically in circles, for at least half an hour now.)

Brother: “The thing that I really hate, Mum, is when you threaten to call up my friends and teachers when you think I’m playing too much or not studying hard enough, or whatever. It’s really hurtful.”

Dad: *in disbelief* “No… Really? Seriously, [Mum], you can’t be doing this; he’s almost 18!”

Me: “Mhm.”

Brother: “Yes! And she’s actually gone through with it, too, when I tried calling her bluff; she actually picks up the phone and starts calling them.”

Mum: *indignant* “You’re making things out to be so much worse than they really are! How many times have I done that, [Brother]? Was it every time? Was it every day?”

Brother: *groans in frustration* “No, but—”

(With that, my patience is out. I have run out of f***s to give.)

Me: *rolls eyes* “Oh, gee, Your Honour, I know I’m facing murder charges, but let’s look at the facts here: it’s not like I killed someone every day, so can you really call me a murderer? I mean, fair’s fair.”

(My brother has his head in his hands. My dad tries to shush me and stifle a chuckle at the same time and is rather unsuccessful in both endeavours. My mum makes a point of ignoring me. She regains composure and tries again, a little quieter this time.)

Mum: *deliberately not looking at me and addressing only my brother* “Tell me, [Brother], did I do that today?”

Me: *throwing my hands up dramatically* “Oh, Your Honour! The unfairness of it all! Okay, so maybe I did kill some people in the past month, but Christ, give me some credit! I didn’t kill anyone today, did I?!”

(My dad lost it and collapsed into a fit of giggles while my brother just about threw his hands in the air. I don’t think much progress was ultimately achieved that day. I may have been a bit unhelpful in that regard. Oops.)

(After our mother suffers from some unpleasant drama, my brothers and I decide to lift her spirits by getting her a cat, something she’s been talking about doing for a while. We eventually find a precious little, orange fluff ball that fits our basic requirements, and bring him home, humorously enough, the day before Mother’s Day. Mom takes to him immediately and locks the two of them in a room for some bonding time. While we wait for her to come back out, [Brother #1] starts to read the paperwork the shelter sent home with us to our father.)

Brother #1: “He was only brought in recently, so he’s a little underweight, but his health is otherwise good. He has all his shots up to date; you’ll have to renew some of them next year. He was tested for kitty HIV and he came back clean, so he can go outside eventually, and he is neutered the fifth…”

Brother #2: *laughing* “He is neutered the fifth?”

Father: *also laughing* “That sounds like some really fancy aristocratic name you’d find in Europe.”

Brother #2: “‘What ho, peasants? I am thy lord, Sir Neutered the Fifth.'”

Brother #1: *dramatically* “‘What is my legacy?'”

Me: “To not have a legacy, apparently.”

Father: “Okay, we have to convince your mother to name him that.”

(She named him Thomas. But it’s fine, he’s her favorite present of all time and that’s all that really matters.)

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Back when I worked at a gaming company as in-game support, one parent in a divorce filed a complaint with us about the other parent harassing them.

This is pretty common: lots of people meet in-game, fall in love, marry, and then fall out of love after finding out what living with this person’s like, or that moving across the country and getting a new job was a bigger problem than anticipated.

I quickly discovered this wasn’t the case here; these were two parents whose relationship predated the game. I knew this, because chat logs between the two parents were primarily angry discussions about their eight-year-old son and who’d get custody rights.

It turns out, neither parent wanted custody, since raising the child would detract from their game time. Interspersed with these awful parents trying to disown their son was the occasional message from said son, who would ask one parent or the other for help with homework or if he could help with dinner. Both parents would dismiss the child regularly.

I got this petition at three am. It took me half an hour to find the specific comment that my petitioner found worthy of complaint. I filed the petition as quickly as I could, then called my girlfriend to tell her how much I loved her.

(I have just graduated from high school, and my grandparents want to treat me to dinner. Two weeks ago, my little cousin graduated from eighth grade; last week was my other cousin’s 16th birthday. My birthday happens to fall just a few days after the school year ends.)

Me: “Do you know what’s in four days?”

Mom: “Your birthday!”

Grandpa: “What?”

Mom: “Yeah, it’s this Wednesday.”

Grandpa: “Holy s***, does this ever end?”

Me: *collecting trash around the house*

Mom: “Go collect the trash in the toilet, the living room, and the kitchen.”

Me: *in my head* “That’s what I’m doing.”

Me: *vacuuming and mopping the house*

Mom: “Vacuum and mop the house.”

Me: *doing the dishes*

Mom: “Do the dishes.”

Me: “Why can’t I have Morgan Freeman narrating the mundane things I’m doing instead of my mom?”