Questions I Still Call to Ask My Parents

Do I put this navy-and-white-striped shirt in with the whites or the darks?

Also, “Dry Clean Only” is just a recommendation, right? Right?

How do I like my burger cooked?

A transcript of an actual conversation I had with my father approximately two weeks ago: “Medium well? So, that’s, like, no pink? What do I tell them? I just say ‘medium well’? Okay. What about chicken? Just for future reference. You don’t? So, chicken is pretty much either ‘cooked’ or ‘Salmonella.’ Got it. What about steak? I know I don’t really eat steak, but I might one day, you know. Well, how do you do yours? I don’t like a lot of pink. Make mine without a lot of pink. Okay. Cool. So, medium well? For my burger. I just tell them ‘medium well’? Okay. Cool. Love you.”

That oil change sticker isn’t that important, right?

I can probably go 10,000 more miles, right? Okay, well, definitely 5,000. Three?

Do you think I can change my own headlight?
But, like, are you sure?

How many tax exemptions do I claim?

Do you claim me as a dependent? What is a dependent? What are taxes?

What’s a substitute for butter?

I’m out of butter and you think I have applesauce? Really? Well, I don’t want to go to the store. I know, I should’ve checked before I started, Mom.

Why is my pee really dark?

I know I need to drink more water, Mom. A lot more, yes. It’s like really dark, though. I think this is serious. I’m going to die, aren’t I? There’s a tumor on my bladder. I have six weeks. Max. I’d like to be cremated. Play Backstreet Boys at my funeral.

How important is this whole 401K thing?

Seriously? Maybe I want to work until I’m ninety. Whatever. Can you just do it for me?

Can I be done now?

This “adult” stuff has been a real treat, guys, but I think it’s time to wrap it up. Pack the bags, hit the road, blow this popsicle stand. Yeah, I’m out.