We’re at a family gathering, and I grabbed my father something from the snack table. He thanks me. I’m a bit hyper, so I say:

Me: “Who is your favourite daughter born on [date]?”

Father: *Laughing.* “You are!”

Grandmother: “[Father’s Name]! I thought I raised you better! You play favourites?!”

Father: *Confused.* “Eh… do I have another daughter born on [date]?”

Grandmother: “You just said [My Name] is your favourite!”

Father: “Well… she is my favourite daughter who is born on [date]. And [My Sister] is my favourite daughter born on [her birth date].”

Grandmother: “Hmph! Don’t make me catch you giving [My Name] special treatment over [Sister]!”

Dad and I looked at each other… and just grinned. My grandmother would never admit she was wrong, but it’s good to know she’s looking out for us.

Allow me to tell you the story of the best prank I ever pulled.

I was in college, and our dog had died a couple of months prior after a very long life (we got her when I was four!). My dad was enjoying a dog-free house for a change. He liked our dogs, but he grew up largely without a dog, had mild allergies, and also liked how clean the house was without the shed fur. My mom and I, however, adored dogs and were starting to get a bit antsy and wistful for fluffy companionship.

My grandparents had been snowbirds with a condo in Florida, but their health reached a point where they couldn’t travel every winter. So my dad and his brothers were going down to clear it out for sale. As we were in mild dog withdrawal, Mom and I decided we’d be going to the humane society to see some dogs and pet them. My dad was aware of this because we’d been fairly vocal about missing dogs, but we promised not to get a dog.

Coincidentally, my friend’s family had gotten a new dog in the past year. A black Labradoodle who was around a year old and super hyper and excitable.

I think you can see where this is going.

The day my dad came home, my friend’s sister came over with the puppy, with the plan to have her hide in the front office since they couldn’t just leave the puppy alone at our house. At one point, after he landed, my parents talked on the phone, and she said, “We have a surprise for you”. The resignation was clear in his voice.

When he arrived, this black bear of a puppy came bounding towards the door, barking her head off and jumping in excitement. My mom and I were laying it on thick about how we met her and just fell in love with her, and couldn’t wait. I kept mentioning how she was even hypoallergenic! Perfect for dad!

Dad’s face was priceless. Just utter defeat and resignation. He just sighed as he took his bag to the front office to put it down, where he noticed my friend’s sister standing in the darkness. At that point, we broke the truth to him, and the relief was strong.

We still laugh about it to this day. One of the best parts is that we know he REALLY loved us because he was already resigning himself to suffer ten-plus years of that hyper dog. When we did get our next dog, he was, of course, part of the process, and we got an eight-year-old rescue with arthritis and the most mellow and lazy attitude. A much better fit for our low-energy household.

My daughter has had very high prescription glasses since she was a toddler. She’s now eleven.

I let her pick out her own glasses frames this year with her much older cousin, and unfortunately, I made the mistake of not signing off on them before we bought them. They are clear plastic frames.

She can’t see a thing without her glasses. Now I hear at least once a day:

Daughter: “Mom, I can’t find my glasses!”

And usually, they’re right in front of her…

I work for a plant store and nursery. We’re helping out a local botanical garden by raising a lot of a certain plant, so we have a lot of plants outside getting ready for multiple pick-ups. 

A car pulls into the parking lot, and a woman gets out, opening the back door and ushering out three young children.

She then stops, looks around as if for the first time, and looks confused.

Woman: “Google said this was a nursery?”

Me: “Yes, a plant nursery.”

Woman: “Where do I leave the kids?”

Me: “Again, a plant nursery. Not that kind of nursery.”

Woman: “What’s a plant nursery?”

I gesture to the huge selection of plants covering the entire storefront.

Me: “A place where we nurse plants from seeds to the point where they can be sold and survive in customers’ homes and gardens.”

Woman: “Well… don’t call this place a nursery! It’s confusing! You’re not even looking after things that run around!”

She looks at her kids again, standing there still and chill, and then looks back to me, expectantly.

Woman: “I don’t suppose… you could…”

Me: “—I only look after things that photosynthesize.”

She huffs and ushers her kids back into the car.

Woman: “Come on, kids, looks like you’re going to annoy mommy’s hairstylist again…”

Once upon a time, long ago, we moved to a house with a large garden. The first Christmas we lived there, our grandparents gave us a Christmas tree with roots. It was dutifully planted in the front yard, and it grew.

A few years later, it was replanted a few meters aside, and it kept growing. It became larger than the house. Then disaster struck. Due to a wrongful trim of the lower branches, sadly, the tree died. It lost all its needles and stood there, a skeleton of its old self.

It took some time, but we finally convinced our dad to take steps to remove the tree before a storm did the job for him (he would have been very lucky for the tree to fall in such a way that no additional damage occurred; not impossible, just improbable).

Dad: “So, I accepted the offer made for the removal of the tree. The contractor will take the wood as well, so next time you’re visiting, you cannot use the tree as a landmark to find the house.”

Me: “Sure, Dad, the house I lived in for just shy of twenty years, the house you lived in for over fifty, I won’t be able to find it without the tree. Luckily, there is still the lantern pole in front of the house…”

Dad: “Oh right, I forgot the lantern pole in front.”

He lives in a cul-de-sac with all of sixteen houses…