(My dad, sister, and I are carpooling on a road trip to a family gathering, when we have to make a stop at a large superstore. The delis at this chain do this new thing where you can get a to-go cup of popcorn chicken or popcorn shrimp. We are hungry, so we decide to do it. Normally, I jump at the chance to get shrimp, but for whatever reason, as soon as I see them, I am in the mood for chicken. I’m hesitating and trying to make a decision, and I notice that both my dad and my sister have grabbed a shrimp.)

Me: “Oh, perfect, because I’m really feeling the chicken. If you’re both getting shrimp, I can get the chicken and have a few pieces of your shrimp and you guys can have some chicken.”

(We are ahead of schedule, so we just sit in the parking lot for a few minutes to eat. My dad and I are in the front seats. My sister is in the back and doesn’t want to share and doesn’t want chicken. She’s not as generous with her food as the rest of the family, whereas everyone else will eat off each other’s plates without even thinking. We are now on the second time my dad and I have swapped cups.)

Dad: “You know, I think I like the chicken better.”

Me: “Same.” *as I pop another piece of shrimp in my mouth* “But, you know, shrimp.”

Dad: *starts laughing* “It sucks, but, you know, it’s shrimp, so it’s a good suck!” *trying to mock me*

Me: “Exactly.”

Dad: “EMBRACE THE SUCK!”

Sister: “You guys are morons.”

Me: “What do you call the Thailand nationality?”

Brother: “Taiwanese?”

Me: “That’s Taiwan.”

Brother: *cocky* “Where’s Taiwan, [My Name]?”

Me: “Not in Thailand, I can tell you that much.”

Related:
Taiwannical Behavior, Part 2
Taiwannical Behavior

(I am 13 at the time, and I’m using the swing set with my 16-year-old sister at the park. For some horrible reason I have neglected to put on underwear today.)

Me: “I’m going to swing higher than you!”

Sister: “Oh, yeah? I’d like to see you try!”

(I swing so high I start to fall backwards, until my belt loops snag onto the chains. My sister gasps. I swing upside-down by my belt loops, so that my pants have slid down to my ankles.)

30-Year-Old Man: *with small daughter* “Um… Do you need help, miss?”

Me: *moons growing audience of parents and small children*

Four-Year-Old Boy: “It’s a BUTT!”

(My shirt has fallen over my face by this point, and I have to do a nude sit-up to grab the chains.)

Four-Year-Old Boy: “Are you okay?”

Sister: *dies laughing*

Me: *falls off swing and kicks [Sister] before sprinting away*

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(My dad is working outside and cuts off his index finger and thumb. We call 911, and after they get him into an ambulance and on the way to the hospital, my mom and I get in the car and follow him. I start texting my older brothers to update them on the situation, since they don’t live at home anymore. My whole family has a very weird and sometimes dark sense of humor.)

Me: “Dad cut his fingers. They might have to amputate them. Mom and I are on the way. [Sister] already knows. I’ll update when I get any news.”

(After the initial shock has set in with both of them, they message me back.)

Brother #1: “Guess I have to take that guitar back, don’t I?”

Brother #2: “Too early for keyboard jokes?”

(After my dad is able to get out of the hospital, they start the jokes right back up.)

Brother #1: “That’s good that he can go home. Make sure he sits in the back; it’s not like he can point directions, anyway.”

Brother #2: “If he says he has a booger, make sure you say, ‘Not it!'”

Brother #1: “Start thinking of some good puns we can make.”

Me: “Already on it.”

Brother #2: “It’s all right that he lost a few; at least he has eight more.”

Brother #1: “He’s going to need a calculator; his counting is going to be way off from now on.”

Brother #2: “On the bright side, I’ve got a good Halloween idea planned already.”

Me: “He’s not going to be giving as many high-fives as he used to; it’ll be more like high-three-and-a-half.”

(My brother has struggled with maths all his life, but he always manages to get decent grades through discipline and lots of hard work. In his final years of high school, however, he gets a particularly mean maths teacher who hates students, and thinks they’re all lazy and exist for no other purpose than to make her life miserable. Nearly all of her classes get an average of D or sometimes even F, but it never occurs to her that it might be due to her awful teaching. During my brother’s last few weeks of high school, most teachers play games or watch movies with the students, because all grades are already set, but not this one. One day, my mother and I are in the kitchen, preparing lunch.)

Mother: “[Brother] should be home any minute now, and we just finished cooking! What great timing!”

(Ten minutes pass, no sign of my brother.)

Mother: “I wonder what’s taking him so long? Normally, he’s always on time.”

(Another 15 minutes pass.)

Mother: “I’m starting to get worried. Do you think something happened to him?”

Me: “Relax, Mom. I’m sure he’s just talking with friends or something.”

(After ten more minutes, my mother tries to call him, but he doesn’t answer his phone. She’s really worried by now. But then, my brother shows up, carrying several large boxes.)

Mother: “[Brother]! Where were you?! I was so worried!”

Brother: *smiling gleefully* “I went to the bakery! Today was my last lesson ever with Mrs. [Teacher]! I bought cake for everyone; let’s celebrate!”

(He had bought three whole cakes, enough for the whole family and neighborhood, so we ended up throwing a huge No Mrs.[Teacher] Party and had still cake for the next three days.)