Truly Hates Presentations

| San Mateo, CA, USA | Parents & Guardians

(My mom’s computer background is a frowning unikitty stating “I hate you.” A few days after setting this, my mom walks in from a meeting, purse and laptop in tow.)

Mom: “That was embarrassing.”

Me: “What?”

Mom: “Okay, so that wallpaper I have? The rainbow kittycorn that says ‘I hate you’?”

Me: “Yeah…”

Mom: “I just had a huge presentation, in front of all the PTA bigwigs, and I set up my computer and I hook it up to the giant screen, and what’s the first thing they see? ‘I hate you.’”

On A Cocktail Of Lies And Cookies

| Pearl River, NY, USA | Children, Siblings

(My brother is in elementary school. It’s just before Thanksgiving and the teacher is asking the kids what they bring to their families’ Thanksgiving dinners. All of the kids give standard answers like “turkey” or “mashed potatoes.” That is, until she gets to my brother…)

Teacher: “And what do you bring to your family’s Thanksgiving dinner, [Brother]?”

Brother: “Cocktails!”

(My mother was mortified. We occasionally have a glass of wine or two, but there’s definitely no cocktails at Thanksgiving dinner. We still don’t know how he came up with that one. For the record, the only thing we’ve ever brought to Thanksgiving dinner was chocolate chip cookies.)

Always Knew That Cats Were Jerks

| Pets & Animals

Friend: “My grandma tripped over her cat and broke her leg.”

Me: “Oh, my god, that’s terrible!”

Friend: “And she said, ‘And the cat didn’t help at all! She just stood there going “Meow! Meow!”’”

Time To Essay The Situation

| Staten Island, NY, USA | Children, Popular, Sons & Daughters

(I am picking my two sons from school, aged six and eight. My eight-year-old comes out strutting like a peacock. I have to know what’s up with all the annoying swagger.)

Eight-Year-Old: *proudly* “I just said ‘NO’ to two girls without hurting their feelings.”

Me: “You said ‘NO’ to what?!”

Eight-Year-Old: “One girl said she should be my girlfriend; another girl said she should be my girlfriend. They argued, so I said, ‘Write me a 300-word essay why you should be my girlfriend. Best essay wins.’”

Me: “You could’ve just said, ‘No, thanks. I’m only eight. Ask me again when I’m thirty!’”

Eight-Year-Old: “Can’t say that. I have manners now.”

(I think, “since when did this punk acquire good manners?”)

Me: “What if one girl writes a great essay? Or both of them?”

Eight-Year-Old: “They’re only eight. They can’t even write a fifty-word essay. See what I mean?”

Me: “No, I’m not seeing anything.”

Eight-Year-Old: “I didn’t actually reject them. Can’t write the essay, can’t be my girlfriend. They hate themselves because they can’t write the essay, but they don’t hate me.”

Me: “Why do you care if they hate you?”

Eight-Year-Old: “Because angry girls are crazy and scary.”

Six-Year-Old: *breaking his silence* “You should see yourself when you’re angry, Momzilla!”

Me: “What planet are you guys from?”

Eight-Year-Old: “From Planet Uterus!”

Six-Year-Old: “We came out of your own loins!”

Me: “Oh. My. God.”

That’s One Stinky Flower

| Portland, OR, USA | Popular, Sons & Daughters

(I am walking my children to school. This was a conversation between me and my 10-year-old daughter.)

Daughter: “This flower looks like Baby Soft Bottom!”

Me: “Uh… I don’t think that’s a flower. I don’t know what baby’s bottom YOU’RE looking at, but this flower is neon pink and that baby needs some diaper rash cream.”

Daughter: “No, it’s Baby Soft Bottom. [Friend]’s mom said it’s Baby Soft Bottom… I don’t think I’m saying it right.”

Me: “You mean Baby’s Breath?”

Daughter: “YES!”

Me: “…”

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