Wait wait I got it. 14 kinds of glitter in a fully packed disco!
I hate it when my 86 year old mom asks me to smell her. “Do I smell? Smell me here.”
Ick.
This gave me a good laugh.
“I don’t have to smell there, mom. I can smell you HERE.”
My mom rarely if ever gave me such weird assignments. However, she was always generous to others with my labor. It wouldn’t occur to her to help someone carry their groceries, for example. Unless I’m around. Then my mom suddenly sees how much assistance people need or how “nice it would be if you shovelled the snow off the neighbors driveway when you finish ours.”
I heard about this on This American Life. Half the weird shit I know I learned from Ira Glass. 
The cashier at the grocery today told me that her mother doesn’t understand how Face Book works. She keeps typing things she’s searching for into the “status” block and hitting enter. The family thought she was losing her mind at first. 
I rue the day that Mr. Legend and I let on to his dad and brother that Google exists. We were hoping to show them that they could find things on the internet using one of the THREE computers in their household, but they came away from our live demonstration with the conclusion that WE can find anything FOR them.
Golf clap.
I really wish I could find my notebook of stuff he’d call me about. At first, I found it irritating, because he’d call me every day, sometimes multiple times a day, with seemingly random questions. I’d find the answers for him, and he wouldn’t do anything with those answers. Then, I just started to look forward to the calls, just for sheer entertainment value. He’s tapered off significantly in the last few years, but I still get calls at least a couple times a week, though the questions now are a bit less entertaining, usually of the form, e.g. “What is elderberry in Polish?” and “check out this website and tell me what it is.”
The wife suggested getting him an internet connection, but no. First of all, he’s never touched a computer before–hell, I don’t think he’s ever used a typewriter, either–and it’s going to be a steep learning curve. Second, that only means that either me or my brother will be getting endless calls for tech support. It’s a lot easier this way.