All last weekend, my mom and sister kept saying, “Where do you come up with this crap?” and “I know I didn’t raise you to say that!” All while having to pull over to the side of the road for laughing.
Really, y’all? YOU didn’t teach me to say these things? YOU didn’t raise me to speak like this? LIARS–all of you.
Ma once faked an epileptic seizure to get out of doing a survey at the mall. She also got us kicked out of an Anthony’s after she was mouthy to the checker who was mouthy to her first. She grabbed Grace and I by the arm and quite literally skipped away saying, “MY AREN’T WE ALL HAPPY AND CHIPPER TODAY.” I was 11.
Grace and Lana were once asked to do an interpretive dance at Church Camp, and when everyone else was looking at themselves lovingly in the mirror and dancing with scarves and Jesus, my family mimed showering. At Church Camp.
I recall my cousin Lana telling me, when I moved in with Ma for college, that I should hide pictures of dicks all over the house. Cut them all out of PlayGirl, and then hide them in obviously hidden places. Her suggestions were: under tupperware lids, inside drawers, in the dryer, and hundreds of miniature ones on the blades of the ceiling fan, so that when she turned it on, it would be a shower of dicks. A shower. Of Dicks.
Lana was also there the night I began drunkenly shouting at Fast Eddie’s waitresses, “MA’AM, YOUR VAGINA. MA’AM! YOUR VAGINA IS OUT,” and kept feeding me drinks to encourage this behavior. She also pointed it out in the first place, and said, “Hey Noa, you should say something to her.”
I have heard my Grandmother shout to various NFL players, “You couldn’t kick a shitball 3 feet,” and, “I’ll shove a hot poker up your ass.” I have also seen her whip off her shoe, lean over the back of a couch and beat the ever living shit out of a Junebug who thought it’d be an awesome idea to dive bomb her–in the span of 4 seconds. I’ll be honest with y’all–I’m not funnier than my grandma, and I would also never want to meet her in a dark alley.
Leo once caught an armadillo, painted it white, and threw it into a bar because he could. He also rigged a Volkswagen Beetle to sit on railroad tracks and a pole to jam down the gas pedal so he and his buddies could cruise and drink in style.
Last Christmas, my aunt bit Grace on the hand hard enough to draw blood and bent a large metal spoon with her bare hands during a card game. She’s also broken a chair and tackled a large man in the course of the same game.
The apple doesn’t fall real far, y’all.
Any crazy family stories that you love to tell?