(My mom has a knack for solving problems, which is why she is frequently asked for advice by her best friends. Her best friend’s maid has gotten pregnant and my mom’s best friend is freaking out. She calls my mom to ask for advice and my mom solves it very quickly. This conversation occurs after the problem has been solved, and my mom is telling me about it over wine.)

Me: “Good job. Wow, I can’t believe that you had a plan of action ready for that.”

Mom: “I’ve had that plan for years, just in case any of the maids I employ got pregnant.”

Me: “Fair enough.”

Mom: “You know I have backup plans for everything, right? Car problems, marital problems, you get your girlfriend pregnant…”

Me: “Hey! I don’t even have a girlfriend.”

Mom: “I’ve made plans already. Just in case.” *starts listing them off on her fingers* “Girlfriend has an STD. Girlfriend is pregnant. Girlfriend breaks up with you. You bring home my grandkid. You get pregnant…”

Me: “I’m a guy.”

Mom: *matter-of-fact tone* “You could have gotten a surgery and then gotten pregnant.”

Me: “Gender reassignment surgery cannot do that.”

Mom: “Really? I didn’t know that.” *sips wine* “Regardless, I made that backup plan before I knew you were a boy.”

Me: “I think that level of paranoia is overkill.”

Mom: “If you think that’s bad, you should listen to my backup plan in case Grandpa and Grandma die. I’ve had that plan since I was sixteen.”

(She’s about fifty at the time of this conversation)

Me: “Jesus. And now you’re going to tell me that you have had a backup plan in case I suddenly died since I was six.”

Mom: “Nonsense.” *sips wine* “I’ve had that plan since before I even got married.”

Me: *speechless*

Mom: “That’s why my life has no curveballs. I make backup plans for everything. That’s why everyone asks me for advice. Whatever problem they have, I already have a backup plan in case such a situation ever happens to me.”

(I am playing an online game with my boyfriend and his schoolmates. We’re using Skype to talk. Halfway through a level, his mom comes into the room. We can hear the entire conversation as he left his mic on.)

Mum: “Boy-boy. Mummy is back.”

Boyfriend: “Uh, hi, Mum.”

Us: *snickers*

Mum: “What game are you playing, ah? Looks very violent. Are you sure you’re old enough for this?”

(He’s seventeen and we’re playing “Left 4 Dead 2.” I know for a fact that he modded the zombies to look like stormtroopers and removed the blood spray for FPS purposes.)

Us: *snickers even louder*

(His tone gets more annoyed as he’s still wearing his headphones and can hear us.)

Boyfriend: “Mum. It’s okay. Don’t worry, all right?”

Mum: “Why can’t you go out and play outside more, ah? Keep playing video games in your room and you will forever never have friends.”

Boyfriend: “I’m playing with my friends now, Mum. We’re playing together online.”

Mum: “Which friends?”

Boyfriend: “[Friend #1], [Friend #2] and [My Name].”

Mum: *perks up* “[My Name]? Really? Last time I saw her she was still a little girl.”

Friends #1 & #2: *starts laughing*

Me: *starts dying of embarrassment*

Mum: “And didn’t she used to cry so much when you had to go home?”

Me: “Stop laughing, idiots! I was six when that happened!”

Friends #1 & #2: *laughs even louder*

Boyfriend: “Uh, Mum, that’s–”

Mum: *not listening* “I think I’ve got a picture of the two of you in the bathtub! Lemme go find it.”

Friends #1 & #2: *catcalling*

Me: *dies of embarrassment*

Boyfriend: *long sigh* “She’s gone now. And I’m locking my room.”

Me: *no-nonsense tone* “I am never inviting her to our wedding.”

Friends #1 & #2: “Ooooh.”

Boyfriend: *without hesitation* “Agreed.”

(I have a younger cousin who is studying in the UK. He’s returned for Christmas and is answering our grandparent’s questions about the food in his boarding school.)

Cousin: “Potatoes. Day in day out. Three meals a day. Name every type of potato dish you know of and I will have eaten it, and more.”

Grandpa: “No variation at all? Every day you have potatoes?”

Cousin: “Yes. Potato soup, smoked potato, steamed potato, mashed potato, mashed sweet potato, sweet potato fries, even potato tofu.”

Wife: “I’m sorry, what?”

Grandma: “Potato tofu?”

Me: “That’s a thing?”

Cousin: “Yeah, I didn’t believe it, either. I thought my seniors were joking until I actually had it. Wasn’t actually too bad.”

Me: “What did it taste like?”

(My wife and I then got into an intense debate/interrogation about everything my cousin knew about that potato tofu he had, which allowed us to approximate the recipe. When my cousin returned back to Singapore after graduation, we disguised it as normal tofu, which he loves, and served it to him. He flipped out when he ate it, screaming that he did not want to see a single potato again for the rest of his life. After he calmed down, we had a good laugh about it and began plotting to serve the same dish to the rest of his fellow students at their next get-together.)

(I am roughly nine years old when this happens. I have stolen several of my mother’s rings and am running around and proposing to any girl I see. My mother is very annoyed at that and begins scolding me. After ten minutes of scolding, she gives this lecture as a means of getting me to stop stealing her jewellery.)

Mom: “Besides, in Singapore, guys don’t use rings when they ask girls to marry them. They ask if they want to get a [slang for government flat] together.”

(There is apparently a law in Singapore that states that if someone wants to buy property, they must be over 35 or married.)

Me: “But that’s not how [Cousin] proposed to [Cousin’s Wife]! He knelt and had a ring.”

Mom: “[Cousin] has watched too many Hollywood movies and is not a good example. He is an outlier. That wasn’t normal.”

Me: “I don’t believe you!”

Mom: “Ask your sister how she got engaged then.”

(So, that’s what I do, immediately running out of the room and going to my big sister and her fiancé in the dining room.)

Me: “[Sister] how did [Fiancé] propose to you?”

Sister: “He didn’t.”

Fiancé: “Your big sister was the one that proposed.”

Me: *befuddled* “Huh, but don’t guys… Never mind. How did you do it?”

Sister: “I asked if [Fiancé] wanted to get a [slang for government flat] together with me.”

Fiancé: “I said yes.”

Mom: *triumphantly* “I told you so!”

Me: *speechless*

(That was, apparently, indeed how my big sister proposed to her childhood sweetheart. She asked if he wanted to get a flat with her and when he pointed out that they couldn’t buy property, she wordlessly slipped a marriage registration form across the table. It took me quite a while to realise that my mother was conning me. My big sister was an outlier and not the norm. Regardless, I stopped stealing my mom’s rings and getting down onto one knee. Instead of “Will you marry me?”, I began asking the much less volatile “Shall we get a house together?” instead.)

(It’s my first month as a manager at a craft beer bar with incredibly low prices. We serve free-flow nachos chips; dips are a dollar and there’s signage at all the self-service stations where customers get the nachos.)

Customer #1: “The bill looks about right; you can charge my card.”

Customer  #2: “Hold on. Here’s what you are going to do for me: remove the cheese because nobody told me it costs a dollar.”

Me: “That can’t be the case. I always mention dips are a dollar when I ask what you’d like, and there are signs up.”

Customer #2: “Oh, then it wasn’t you! It was her!” *points to my new part-timer* “I come here every Thursday; don’t you recognise me? You should remember your regular customers and treat them well! You need to remember me for next time!”

Me: “What is my name? Or, what is the name of my staff behind the bar? Do you know any of our names?”

Customer #2: “Uh…”

Me: “See, that’s the difference between someone who comes here because of the value we offer at our prices for top-tier products and someone who has made a personal connection with one of our staff. So, which are you?”

Customer #1: “Please stop harassing him over a dollar! You can charge my card.”

Me: “I’ve taken the cheese off your bill. See you next Thursday.”

(To the fuming tomato imploding from lack of a comeback: rest assured, I will remember you.)