Kids in the home going to the fridge, grabbing a stick of butter, unwrapping it, taking a big bite, rewrapping and putting it back.
And one of those kids grew up to have her very own show on the Food Network.
I was invited over to a friend’s house for dinner for the first time. Now, for staging purposes, they all sit around the living room to eat as a family. They have these two large dogs. So, I ask beforehand, as I always do, what the rules are with the dogs and food.
Am I supposed to ignore begging? Can I give them a bite? What kind of stuff can I feed them? Do they have to do a trick to get some?
They tell me that not only can I feed them whatever I want, but that all the plates are given to the dogs after the meal and that the dogs would hassle you if you took the plate straight to the kitchen.
So, I finish my meal. Which was decent… And I lay my plate down for the dogs. They clean it up quite nicely. I pick it up to take to the kitchen and I ask if it goes in the sink or the dishwasher. They said to put it back in the cabinet because the dogs clean it good enough to eat off of. I laughed at the joke and then kinda reiterated my question.
IT WASN’T A JOKE!
My friend walked in to the kitchen and put her plate, her boyfriend’s plate, and her mom and dad’s plate all in the cabinet with the other “clean” dishes. I could have been sick. I dropped all contact with them. That was just too much.
I don’t know. Hard to say but I feel like this one is so crazy that I almost have to call bulls*t. On the other hand, my own dog does do a really impressive job of cleaning her own bowl to the point that I almost never have to do it, so maybe.
When I was dating my first girlfriend in high school, I was invited over to her house for dinner and meet the parents, etc. At one point I was talking with her father in his study and noticed lots of old-looking phallic objects on the shelves in the room. On closer inspection, they were mummified penises, dozens of them. Turns out he was a urologist and an amateur archaeologist.
There’s a museum in my city where you have to pay to see this kind of stuff. Basically what I’m saying is that I would go to that chick’s house all the time.
Once when I was a kid I was invited to stay over for dinner at a friend’s house. My friend’s mother poured a large quantity of ketchup into a cereal bowl, which the entire family all casually dipped their fingers into and licked throughout the meal.
Aside from being disgusting, I don’t see what’s even remotely efficient about this. Why didn’t they put the ketchup on their plates? What were they eating with the ketchup? I have too many questions and not enough time.
Went to a party in college and the kid living there had BOXES of Cat Fancy magazine cataloged by month and year all over his room. When I asked about it, the dude just shrugged and said, “I’m into cats.” I was too nervous to ask more.
I think what’s weirder is the guy who’s not into cats. What’s wrong with Cat Fancy, bro?
One of my wife’s co-workers invited us to a dinner party. He’s a very accomplished doctor who is, supposedly, considered the foremost authority in his specialty. I knew the man had a huge ego but nothing prepared me for what I saw when we went to his home.
As soon as we walked in the door there was a life size painting of himself that one of his patients had given him as a gift. Nothing strange about that, he saved a patients life and they were very grateful so they gave him a painting. His wife takes our jackets, hangs them up then walks us to his massive living room where the rest of the guests are mingling. As I looked around the room to take in what a magnificent home this man has I noticed that there are hundreds of pictures lining his shelves and walls. Every, single one of those pictures was of him. Not of his wife, not of his four children, not of his siblings, parents, or someone he admires. Even the pictures that looked like they may have been group photos were cropped so that only he could be seen.
I’m terrible at hiding my true feelings, my face usually gives me away every time but I spent the next hour desperately trying to pretend like this wasn’t remotely strange. After a few drinks I decided to head to the bathroom, I had to take a dump and I’m not shy about doing so at another person’s home. I walked into their guest bathroom, closed the door, lifted up the lid, sat down and grabbed one of a dozen books that were sitting next to the toilet. The first book I picked up is written by our host, so I picked up another book and it is also written by our host. I looked at the book ends and ALL of them are written by our host. Part amused and part disgusted I looked up and noticed there is a picture on a small table across from the toilet. It’s our host again, staring at me in the picture while I’m taking a dump…..
I bet this is exactly what Tom Cruise’s house looks like. NAILED IT.
When I moved cities in grade 2 or 3 I didn’t know anyone. I met someone the first day and he invited me to his house that weekend to stay over. Everything was great, we played GameCube and stayed up until 3am (the latest I had been awake up to that point). He said we had to sleep in the basement so that we don’t wake his parents when we went upstairs. We go downstairs with our sleeping bags and immediately I knew something was wrong. The worst smell I’ve ever experienced filled my nostrils the further we descended. In the corner of the room was a bed covered in what looked like crusty blood and some pus-coloured streaks. Turns out his mother had a home birth the week before and kept the sheets as a memento. I haven’t been back since.