(We are having a family dinner for my mom’s birthday. Towards the end of the meal, the conversation turns to my sister-in-law’s VERY elderly and sickly dog.)

Brother: “…and she insists on buying the forty-pound-bags of food for him, and every time, I tell her that the food will outlast the dog.”

Grandma: “You know, that’s how I feel every time I buy green bananas.”

Related:
Banana-Drama, Part 8
Banana-Drama, Part 7
Banana-Drama, Part 6

(My older sister is playing with my young brother, who is around six or seven years old. My older sister decides they should race together across the field, so they hold hands and run. Somehow my brother trips very awkwardly and dislocates his shoulder. Since neither my sister or mother know how to set it, they take my brother, crying in pain, to the hospital, where they quickly put it back. However, since my brother is quite young, they need to ascertain, as per usual, whether there is the possibility there has been child abuse. They ask him repeatedly how he hurt his shoulder. He tells them what happened, but somehow they keep pressing the matter, as “I was running and I fell” probably sounds like a dubious answer. They ask him, talk for a bit, and then ask him again. Finally, he gets fed up with the whole thing.)

Medical Staff: “So, tell me again: how did you hurt your arm?”

Brother: “A crocodile bit it!“

(They stopped asking him after that.)

(I work in a library. A teenage regular comes up to the counter to check out “Twilight.” Normally I don’t care that anyone’s checking out “Twilight,” even though I don’t care for the book myself, but I find it weird that she’d be reading “Twilight” since it’s so different from the horror, adventure, and classic science fiction books she usually favors.)

Me: “Huh. So, what made you want to read Twilight?”

Regular: “My sister.”

Me: “Is she a fan of the books?”

Regular: “No, she hates everything that has to do with Twilight. We like real vampires in our family, like Dracula and Nosferatu, not sparkling fairies.”

Me: “But she recommended it, anyway?”

Regular: “Nope. She was making me angry, so I threatened to torture her by reading it to her, and I always carry my threats through!”

(She walked away smiling once I’d checked the book out for her. I would give anything just to be a fly on the wall during that torture session.)

(I’m walking through the living room carrying my Kindle when I slip and fall. My brother is nearby playing a video game.)

Me: “Ow! What the h*** was on the floor?!”

Brother: “You okay?”

Me: “Yeah, I just banged my knee… Aw, d*** it, my Kindle’s broken!”

Brother: “Okay, calm down. It’s only $50 to get it fixed. Please don’t flip out.”

(I put my face in my hands and take a few deep breaths, then sit down.)

Brother: “I just want you to be ‘$50 and a hurt knee’ upset, not ‘$300 and a broken leg’ upset. I feel like a lot of the tension around here lately has been because people get mad over every little thing.”

Me: “Yeah, I know.”

(I actually have calmed down — I was only really upset for a minute or two. I start looking online at prices for a new Kindle. Unfortunately, I’m having trouble concentrating, because I’m interrupted by this:)

Brother: “G**d*** it! Of course it starts lagging right as someone targets me! I wish this game would just pick a f****** speed! F***!”

(I had no idea “laggy video game” upset was so much worse than “$50 and a hurt knee” upset. I may have to suggest that he stop playing entirely if it’s causing him that much trauma.)

(I am with my family at an amusement park, and we are queuing to get on a log flume. There are three to a log, so it’s my younger brother in front, stepmum at the back, and me in the middle. This log flume is three steadily escalating hills. We go up the first hill with no problem… or so I think:)

Younger Brother: *who has learning difficulties* “That was horrible; I’m glad it’s over.”

Me: “Uh… We have two more to go through.”

(We started up the second hill. My brother started yelling that he wanted to get off. Once we went down that hill, he started trying to stand up and get off. My stepmum, behind me, was trying to force him down into his seat. Eventually, we went down the last hill, and the picture after was basically my screaming, crying brother trying to get off, my screaming stepmother trying to force him to sit down, and me in the middle with this, “Oh, for f***’s sake,” look on my face.)