A Tiny Problem With That

, , , | | Right | May 19, 2019

(My husband helps his brother-in-law with a shop at the local market. I sometimes drop by with my eight-months-pregnant belly and stand behind the desk, chatting with people. My husband is 21 and  I’m 23, but we both look way younger, while his 40-something brother-in-law is tall with a bigger build.)

Customer: “Oh, how nice! Is it your first?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, my first.”

Customer: “Is that the father?” *pointing at the brother-in-law*

Me: “Oh, no, the one with the black shirt on.”

Customer: “You mean the tiny one? But he is too young!”

(After that, she left, the brother-in-law laughed his a** off, and my husband looked defeated. Now every time he goes to work he won’t shave, so he can look older.)

That’s Your Signature Art

, , , , | | Right | May 12, 2019

(I go to a large convention to sell my art. Things go well and it’s eventually time to close the shop. Security ushers the visitors to the exit and while we put away things, I get visited by a last-minute shopper.)

Shopper: “Oh, this is lovely. I would like to have one of these, please.”

Me: “Certainly.”

Shopper: “I want a perfect one, without any blemishes or spots.”

Me: “Of course!”

(I create and print all my art myself and am a perfectionist, so I don’t sell anything I’m not satisfied with myself.)

Me: “Here you go, ma’am.”

Shopper: “No, not this one. This one has that stain on it.”

Me: *looking at it* “I don’t see any stains, I’m sorry. Where?”

Shopper: “Here! I want one that is perfect!”

Me: “All right, here is another one.”

Shopper: “This one is stained, as well!”

Me: “Where, ma’am? I can’t see the stain myself.”

Shopper: “Here!” *points at it*

Me: “That is my signature, ma’am.”

(She looked at the art, but then said this version was… adequate enough. Oh, well, a sale is a sale!)

Pancakes In Human Form

, , , , , | | Friendly | May 12, 2019

My grandmother told this story several times. She was born in the 1920s and survived World War 2 with her family intact — as far as she let us know, anyway. One of her favourite stories is when she and her older sister were sent out for food during the dire Hunger Winter of 1945.

She and her sister were sent out to several farms for food. The first farm had pity on them and the nice farmer wife decided to treat these poor hungry ones to some delicious pancakes! My grandmother and her sister were delighted and they ate as much as they were offered. Then, they continued their journey.

The next farm also offered a bit of food for home and those farmers had pity on the young girls as well. The farmer’s wife decided to give them something delicious: egg pancakes — more eggs than normal pancakes. My grandmother and her sister did not want to be rude, and ate as much as they could. They thanked the couple for the meal and went to their last stop, a family member’s farm, at which they would also spend the night.

“You poor things; you look famished! But I made something special for you: bacon pancakes!”

My grandmother and her sister did not dare to tell the truth and yes, again, ate as much as they could. They spent the night on the outhouse as a tag-team and they overheard their family members discussing how rude they were! Even after they confessed the truth, they were still considered “the rudest Choosing Beggars” — even by their parents! — as we’d call it nowadays.

Morning Plans Gone Up In Smoke

, , , | | Related | May 11, 2019

(I am about eight years old. I wake up before my parents one Sunday morning and decide I want to do something nice for them and make breakfast. Setting the table goes fine, making tea goes fine — water-heater, so no stove involved — but then I come to the bread. On a normal Sunday, my mom will eat just a few slices of bread, my dad a croissant, and I a breakfast roll. The thing is, I don’t know the breakfast rolls are bake-off bread, while the other stuff is just frozen. So, little oblivious me just puts everything in the microwave to defrost it. When the microwave pings, the slices and croissant are ready, but the roll still looks “frozen.” No biggie, I think; maybe it just needs longer to defrost. So, I put the roll back in the microwave, set the timer as far as it will go, thinking I can check up on it every couple of minutes until it is done, and turn it on again. Then, I go to watch TV and, as you can imagine, pretty much forget about the roll, until after a while I notice a burning smell and smoke coming out of the kitchen. I turn off the microwave, open it — more smoke — open the garden door, usher the dogs and cat outside because I think they shouldn’t be in a room that is full of smoke, and go upstairs to tell my parents. They are both still sound asleep. As my mom is sick, I try and wake up my dad.)

Me: *softly* “Dad?”

Dad: *snores*

Me: *louder* “Dad.”

Dad: *grumbles*

Me: *shaking his shoulder* “Daaad.”

Dad: *grumpily* “What?”

Me: “The kitchen’s full of smoke.”

Dad: “WHAT?!”

(You can bet he flew out of bed after hearing that. Thankfully, my well-intentioned mishap caused no permanent damage, and my parents were even able to laugh about it… after the microwave was cleaned out.)

 

You Can’t Fight Against Mother’s Nature

, , , | | Related | May 9, 2019

(I’m on the phone with my mother, discussing my parents’ visit next weekend. Since both are obnoxiously nosy, traditional, and fearsome about nearly everything in life, I tend to keep relationships to myself to keep things healthy.)

Mother: “So, do we get to see [New Boyfriend]?”

Me: “Oh, he can’t be there this weekend.”

Mother: “Oh. Why not?!”

Me: “He can’t make it. He isn’t there.”

Mother: “Ah! Why! Not! I am so eager to meet him!”

Me: “He isn’t around that day.”

Mother: “Now I can’t meet him. I so hoped for it.”

Me: “Well, he just isn’t here this weekend.”

Mother: “Why can’t he? It’s the first time we get to see him.”

Me: “He is not around, not in town…”

Mother: *deep sigh*

Me: “But we will come to [Aunt]’s party in June.”

Mother: “Aaaaahh! Not fair!”

Me: “Why so…”

Mother: “Now [Aunt] gets to see him first!”

Me: “That depends who sees him first at the party, I guess?”

Mother: “Just isn’t fair. Why can’t we see him this weekend?!”

Me: “He is just not around.”

Mother: *keeps muttering until I change the subject*

(Mind you, I used to have a cat which was afraid of her. Every year on my birthday, she would sneak out of the living room and chase the trembling cat until I dragged her — my mother — back to the living room, and my father told her to stay put on the couch and not chase the poor cat. She kept trying. My boyfriend is not going to be around during their visit this weekend!)

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