(My grandmother’s house is built right on the side of a steep hill. Because of this, some of the architecture is a little strange. For example, in order to get down to the level backyard, you have to take three flights of exterior deck stairs from the top floor all the way down, instead of just heading out a back door that’s level with the yard. One summer, my cousins, siblings, and I are visiting grandma, and all of us older kids decide to hang out in the backyard. My youngest sister, four years old, comes out onto the top floor deck and yells down at us, while standing immediately to the right of the stairs.)

Sister: “HEY! HOW’D YOU GUYS GET DOWN THERE!?”

Me: “WE TOOK THE ELEVATOR!”

Sister: “THE ELEVATOR!?”

Me: “YEAH! YOU GOTTA FLIP LIGHT SWITCHES IN THE HOUSE UNTIL THE ELEVATOR APPEARS AND THE DOORS OPEN!”

(My sister excitedly runs indoors while my middle sister and cousins laugh hysterically. Minutes later, my mom storms out onto the deck and hollers down.)

Mom: “WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU TELL YOUR SISTER?!”

Me: “I ONLY TOLD HER HOW TO FIND THE ELEVATOR TO GET DOWN HERE!”

(Mom marched back inside, and minutes later my little sister came out and found the staircase down to the yard. Apparently, she’d been running around the house flicking the lights on and off, getting more and more frustrated each time an elevator didn’t magically appear. Later, when I explained the whole story to Mom, we had a good laugh… but my cranky old grandma pretended she didn’t think it was that funny, while trying to keep the corners of her mouth from quirking up.)

(While I sit at the dining room table on my computer, my older brother is sitting across from me, attempting to carve wood. He’s trying to get a knot out of the edge of the wood, and doing so in a very dangerous manner, hammering the point of the blade in with the handle of a different blade, while the blade in the wood is pointing towards his hand. Since he’s already proven to be accident-prone and easily injured, I speak up.)

Me: “I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Brother: “Nah, it’s fine.”

(I sigh and turn back to my computer. Suddenly, my brother lets out a loud yelp!)

Brother: “It was the stick! The stick stabbed me, not the blade!”

(My husband is doing our shared flat’s laundry when he finds a pair of black tights.)

Husband: “Honey, are these yours or your sister’s?”

Me: “They don’t look familiar. Sis, are they yours?”

Sister: “Nope. [Female Roommate], are these yours?”

Sister’s Roommate: “No, definitely not mine.”

Me:“If they don’t belong to any of us girls, how did they get in there?”

(Then my brother, who was in dance school, walked past and grabbed them out of my hands without saying a word.)

(I am walking home with my sister and one of our cousins. It’s just beginning to get dark and we are a bit wary as we pass by a rough looking guy.)

Cousin: *whispering* “Oh s***, that guy just showed me a knife and grinned at me!”

(We all start walking faster, and we notice that he’s crossed the street but is keeping pace just a short distance from us. The corner of our street has a high fence that would block us from his view.)

Sister: “As soon as we turn into our street, we are all going to run for it, okay? Don’t look back; just run.”

(I have always been known for not being a very fast runner. People use the expression, “She couldn’t run if her life depended on it,” about me. My sister and cousin have both won running races at school; I always come in last. We get to our street and we all take off running. I get to the front door, unlock it, and we all end up piling into the house.)

Cousin: “What the h*** was that, [My Name]?”

Me: “What the h*** was what?”

Cousin: “[Sister] told me you couldn’t run!”

Me: “I can’t!”

Cousin: “[Sister] and I couldn’t catch you; I’ve never seen someone run so fast in my life!”

Sister: “Yeah, why don’t you ever run that fast at school?”

Me: “They don’t usually chase me down the track at school with a knife.”

(I tend to be a bit dramatic, to the point of it being a joke, when I am sick. My sister is out of town, and I have been battling an awful cold for nearly a week when this happens.)

Sister: “Hey. I’ll pay you to watch [Son] on Saturday. [Husband] has to work, and I won’t be back until late. I don’t think it’s occurred to him yet that [Son] can’t go to work with him. If you’re interested. If you’re not, it’s okay. We’ll figure something out. Just thought I’d see with you first.”

Me: “I would recommend finding someone else, since I’m currently dying of incurable plague.”

Sister: “Ugh. Can’t you just supervise him from your deathbed?”

Me: “So that he can catch the death-plague? I’m trying to limit exposure to others. I wouldn’t inflict this on someone I don’t like.”

Sister: “That’s true. I don’t want any of us to get your death plague. Also, actual plague is making an actual comeback IN THE UNITED STATES!”

Me: “Actual plague would be an improvement; it’s bacterial, so a few cc’s of penicillin to the rump takes care of that. I’m viral.”

Sister: “Bleh. Also that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.”

(This was after I sent her a picture of cough medicine, calling it “my sweet nectar of life.”)