(My mother is in her sixties, and while not incredibly vain, she can’t help but be a little interested in various plastic surgical procedures. Since she has gotten to know a plastic surgeon through the ballroom dance club she helps run with my dad, she goes to his office one day for a consultation. I happen to call her the afternoon after her appointment. Also note that my three siblings and I were all born via medically necessary C-sections, and my mom is ten years in remission for a mild form of lymphoma.)

Me: “So, how did it go?”

Mother: “It was fine. But I have to tell you, I don’t think this is for me.”

Me: “Oh? What makes you say that?”

Mother: “Probably the fact that I’m not in the mood to have a more extensive medical procedure just to look pretty than I did to beat cancer or have four children!”

(I have no problem with anyone who chooses to have plastic surgery — it’s your body, after all — but I couldn’t fault my mom’s rationale, and it did make me laugh. Just one of the many reasons I love this lady so much!)

(Our supervisor is making the schedule for the following week.)

Supervisor: “Monday is my birthday. I’m going to draw a balloon on that day.”

(She draws a small, crude picture of a balloon on the schedule.)

Me: “Looks more like a sperm.”

Supervisor: *grins* “Well, I hope I get that on my birthday, too!”

(A customer came up to my register with a coupon and a coloring book. One of our major coupon exceptions is books. I explain this to her.)

Customer: “Yeah, but this should still work.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m afraid it won’t. That’s a book.”

Customer: “No, it’s a coloring book. That’s not a book.”

Me: “But it’s a coloring book. It’s still a book.”

Customer: “No, books and coloring books are completely different.”

Me: “It’s a coupon exception.”

Customer: “Well, then you should list coloring books in your exceptions.”

Me: “We list books and magazines. This is a book.”

Customer: “No, it’s a coloring book.”

Me: “Yes. A coloring book.”

(She continued to insist that books and coloring books were different, leading me to just shut up and finish ringing her up.)

(Both the flu and a stomach bug have been going around my sister’s school and about a quarter of the population ends up sick. She ends up going to her nurse with the stomach bug after throwing up in the hallway, and my dad has just come to pick her up.)

Nurse: “Here’s a bag for the car ride home, in case you have to throw up again.”

(A random kid runs in from the hallway, grabs the bag from her hands, and throws up in it.)

Nurse: “Okay, I’ll get you another bag and throw this one away.”

(This repeated two more times with another student who was already in the nurse’s office and one of the history teachers, before my sister finally got her own bag to go home with. We’re all surprised they didn’t just quarantine the entire school at that point.)

(One spring, my ten-year-old brother starts campaigning for a puppy. My parents tell him, “We’ll see,” until summer vacation, at which point they show him a large chart.)

Brother: “What’s this?”

Mom: “This is your puppy earning chart. If you want that dog, you’re going to earn him.”

Brother: “Like, with my allowance?”

Dad: “No, with work. Dogs are a lot of work, and we’re not getting one until you prove to us that you will take care of him. We’ll help, of course, but you want the dog, so you have to do the work.”

Mom: “This chart has two parts. One for exercise, and one for chores. Every day this summer that you go out and walk around the neighborhood, at least a mile, you get an exercise check. And every day that you do your chores without us having to nag you, you get a chore check.”

Brother: “Because… dogs need walking! And feeding, and playtime, and stuff!”

Dad: “Exactly. So, if you get both checks on fifty or more days this summer, you’ve proved yourself, and you get what you want. Deal?”

Brother: “Deal!”

(“Treasure” the golden retriever came home with my brother the following fall.)

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