At Least There’s No Argument That Batman Is Real

| St. Louis, MO, USA | Children, Cousins, Popular

(As I am babysitting my younger cousins, a six-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl, I get the great idea to ask what they wanted to be for Halloween.)

Boy: “I want to be a superhero like Batman! And my best friend is gonna be Superman.”

Me: “That’s awesome! What about you?”

Girl: “I want to be a narwhal!”

Me: “A what?!”

Girl: “A narwhal. I was gonna be a mermaid or a unicorn, but they’re not real. So I’m gonna be a narwhal. A unicorn of the sea!”


Playing It Cool

| USA | Parents & Guardians, Siblings

(We’re at home on a hot summer night.)

Dad: “Well, [Brother], it’s a hot night and we all need something refreshing. What could we have to cool off?”

Brother: “Beer?”

Dad: “No. Guess again.”

Brother: “Margaritas?”

Dad: “No. Guess again.”

Brother: “Mike’s Hard Lemonade?”

Mom: “Oh, my god, what in the world are you teaching this kid?”

(The correct answer, by the way, was ice cream.)


Has A Different Port Of Call

| Scotland, UK | Parents & Guardians, Siblings

(It’s the weekend and my younger brother and I are catching up on TV shows with our parents. We’re both of the legal age to drink in small amounts at home.)

Dad: *to me* “This is a nice port, quite sweet. You should try it!”

Me: “No, thanks.”

Dad: “Go on. You won’t know if you like it if you don’t try it!”

(It should be noted at this point that the quest to find an alcoholic drink that I actually like is a bit of an ongoing thing in my home. I roll my eyes and oblige, taking his glass from him.)

Dad: *to my mum* “Do you remember your parents ever having to say ‘go on, try it!’?”

Mum: “No.”

(I take a sip and my face immediately scrunches up. I start coughing and spluttering as soon as I pass the glass back, eyes watering. The taste in my mouth is absolutely foul.)

Dad: “Oh, come on. It can’t possibly be that bad!”

Mum: *passing her drink to my brother* “Here, you try it. What do you think?”

Brother: *shrugs and mumbles something about it being sort of sweet*

Me: “I just must not like alcohol, okay?”

(My parents share a look, and then:)

Dad: “Must be a defective gene.”

Mum: “I agree.”