While watching TV in the den, I noticed the little hand painted plate I gave my parents as a gift in the 5th grade being used as a coaster for my dad’s hot beverage.

Me: Hey Dad, you like this plate?
Dad: No, your mother bought that somewhere.
M: So you don’t like it?
D: I’m neutral about it, why?
M: I made when I was like, 10 and gave it to you guys as a present!
D: Oh. Well, you didn’t know any better back then.

I realize now where I get my brutal honesty from. Thanks Dad.

When I got to my parents house today, there was a pumpkin sitting on the stoop. My dad had drawn a face on it with a Sharpie instead of carving it, because he wants to cook it eventually. 

Dad: It looks just like (names one of our relatives)

Mom: Ohhh, Michael, stop!!

Me: Why is there a lone shoe sitting next to it?

Mom: It has poop on it.

Dad: (Forlornly) She’s wants to get poop on my pumpkin…