We Don’t Know Why We’re Riveted To This But We Are

, , , , | Related | October 23, 2019

Dog: *starts barking at the window*

Stepdad: “What’s he barking at?”

Other Dogs: *start going wild*

Stepdad: “Everyone, SHUT UP!”

Dogs: *goes silent*

Stepdad: “What were they barking at?”

Stepbrother: “[First Dog] saw a rabbit, and the other two just copied him.”

Stepdad: “Nutty dogs.”

Dog: *starts going nuts*

Stepbrother: “Now there’s a cat outside… The cat is stalking the rabbit. The rabbit took off, and now the cat’s looking disappointed.”

Stepdad: “Stupid cat should have caught him when she had the chance.”

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Don’t Need Any Old Spice

, , , , | Related | August 8, 2019

(My dad’s new wife loves spicy food, and I don’t, since it gives me a painful rash. I’ve told her this, and she just clucks. She cooks up a stew for us and it smells great. There’s a spicy smell but I figure that it’s coming from hers and Dad’s dishes, since they like it. Lo and behold, one bite and I’m panting and whimpering, and my lips and mouth hurt.)

Dad: “Why did you put hot sauce in [My Name]’s dish? She’s told you she doesn’t like it.”

Stepmom: “I only put a little of my homemade hot sauce.”

Dad: “Your homemade hot sauce? It’s poison!”

(He doesn’t mean literally poison; it’s just an expression he uses to say it’s really spicy.)

Stepmom: “Meh. She’ll have to get used to it! Spicy foods are good for the soul. It helps the circulation, too.”

(Since then, I’ve asked her not to prepare me a dinner, since she doesn’t get it. She ignores me and prepares me another stew the next day; however, this one doesn’t have any hot sauce. It tastes a bit bland, so I grab the black pepper and start putting some flavor in it.)

Stepmom: “I thought that you didn’t like spiciness! Black pepper is spicy!”

Me: “Not to me. It’s nice and tangy.”

Stepmom: “Pffft! You young people can’t make your minds!”

(At least she stopped then.)

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Playing Couch-Detective

, , , , , | Related | July 30, 2019

(My parents bought a new couch for our downstairs family room. Considering that’s where the game consoles are, whenever I have friends over we usually sit on the couch. After a year of having it, my parents call me downstairs. They seem angry.)

Stepdad: “You and your friends broke our couch.”

Me: “How?”

Mom: “Can you not see it?”

Me: “I honestly can’t see anything wrong with it.”

(They point at a small blemish on one of the cushions. It looks like a burn mark from a cigarette. Being that I’m twelve, I definitely don’t smoke cigarettes.)

Me: “That’s not from me.”

Stepdad: “Why do you think that?”

Me: “That’s a burn mark. I don’t even know where to find a lighter.”

Stepdad: “Well, now it’s ruined! We’ll have to throw it out now!”

Me: “It doesn’t look that bad; I didn’t notice it until you pointed it out. But it is definitely not from anything I’ve been doing.”

Mom: “That doesn’t explain where it came from, though.”

Me: “Maybe it was [Brother] or [Brother’s Girlfriend]. Their room is down here. I’m not the only one who uses the couch.”

(They denied it. At that point, though, they just gave up and dropped it. We still have the couch, although it’s in the garage because my stepdad wanted to convert the garage into a man cave but never did. They’ve offered to let me take it whenever I decide to move out. I’m not complaining, either; who doesn’t want a free couch?)

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A Gender-Fluid Household

, , , , , | Related | July 13, 2019

(These stories are from over 15 years ago. My biological dad ran out on me and my mum when I was a baby, so since infancy, I lived with my mum, my aunt, and my grandmother in varying combinations. No dudes around, which meant that as an 11-year-old male, I have picked up some slightly strange habits. Mum has been dating this guy for about two years and I love him, and he loves me. She decides it’s time for us to move in with him. On the second night in our new place, I go and shower and come out wrapped in my towel as always.) 

Stepdad: *sitting on the couch reading, looks up at me and snorts* “Mate… what are you doing?”

Me: “Showering?”

Stepdad: “Well, yeah, but… Okay, so you don’t have boobs to hide, right?”

Me: *indignant* “No!”

Stepdad: “Right. Well, you can wrap the towel just around your waist, then. You’ve also only got short hair, so you don’t need to wrap it up like that…”

(Yep, I’ve been wearing the towel wrapped around me up under my arms and wrapping up my hair turban style. It never occurred to me why my female relatives did that and it had honestly never occurred to Mum to correct me. She laughs and apologizes after [Stepdad] tells her I am lucky I’ve never showered at school or I’d be a laughing stock. This must pique his interest into other things I might have picked up because for the next couple weeks interactions like this are pretty normal. I’m washing my face before bed as always, when my stepdad wanders into the bathroom.)

Stepdad: *snorts again* “Mate. Use the soap, or just water.”

Me: *indignant* “Mum uses this!”

Stepdad: *very gently* “I know, bud, but that’s makeup remover.”

(A few mornings later, I’m getting ready for school. As always, Mum has already left for work, but my stepdad works from home. Again, he walks past the bathroom as I’m doing my morning stuff. He does a double-take and I can see he’s trying to formulate a nice way to bring something up.)

Stepdad: “Uh… Uh, hey, bud?”

Me: “Yeah?”

Stepdad: “Look. If you want to wear it, I’ll back you completely but… you do know that’s mascara, right?”

Me: “Yeah, so?”

Stepdad: “Well, nothing, mate. Just… most blokes don’t wear it because it’s makeup.”

Me: “WHAT?!”

Stepdad: *giggling* “Well, at least you were taking it off at night!”

(I didn’t know it was makeup. I thought everyone wore it; it was the only makeup my mother wore except lipstick for a fancy night out or something, and I knew THAT was makeup but assumed everyone wore mascara. Another night:)

Stepdad: “Mate, did you use my razor?”

Me: “Yeah, sorry. I couldn’t find Mum’s.”

Stepdad: “No worries, mate. Didn’t realise you shaved already! I didn’t have to shave until I was fifteen. We’ll get you your own.”

Me: *excited* “Thank you! Can we get the pale blue ones Mum uses? Yours was really sharp; I cut myself a few times.”

Stepdad: *looking at my face* “Are you using it against the grain, bud? I can’t see any cuts…”

(I roll up my pant leg to show him a couple of cuts on my ankle.)

Me: “Nah, just these ones, and one on my underarm. What’s ‘against the grain’ mean?”

Stepdad: *trying desperately not to laugh* “All right, we need to have a chat…”

(A few weeks later, after he gently corrected a few things – -and told me many times if I wanted to keep doing things the old way that I could, but he knew I was clueless about how men did things — he watches me bring my two glasses of water out of my bedroom the same way I do every morning.)

Stepdad: “Thirsty last night, mate? You could have used one cup. I bloody hate doing the dishes.”

Me: “But you need two. One isn’t for drinking.”

Stepdad: *looking at me confused* “What do you mean?”

Me: “Grandma always has two. One for drinking and the other one sits there. She always told me not to drink from the other cup.”

Stepdad: *bursts out laughing* “Bud, the other cup was for her teeth.”

(Chalk that one up to child stupidity rather than only having female role models. He really was the most gentle and accepting man helping a prepubescent boy figure out what he wanted to do and what he was doing just because he’d always seen his mum doing it. I’m SO GLAD he was around before I started high school; I can’t imagine that would have been a pleasant experience doing things the way I’d always done them. To this day, he is kind and gentle and my number-one supporter in everything I do. Now I have my own baby boy and Dad likes to crack jokes like, “He’s getting big! We’ll have to get him his own razor soon.” I love my dad.)

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If Shot In L.A. You Need To Credit The Lemon Twister, Also

, , , , , | Related | December 8, 2018

(My father, stepmother, and I have just watched a movie. We are now watching the credits.)

Stepmother: “You know, credits used to only take up a single page.”

Me: “And now they take up like ten minutes.”

Stepmother: “Animators, ‘character rigging,’ editors… They really do credit everyone.”

Me: *jokingly* “Hey, I walked on set and gave you a coffee; put me in the credits!”

(Not ten seconds later, we see the heading, “Caffeination,” and a name is credited.)

Stepmother: “Wow, talk about perfect timing!”

Me: “I was kidding!

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