Technically my father is my landlord. This leads to repeated silly arguments along these lines:
Skald the Rhymer: “Here’s the rent check, Dad. Go ahead and cash it this time, okay.”
Father the Rhymer: “Oh, you don’t need to give me any rent. You came over and mowed my lawn last week, so we’re even.”
StR: “No, we’re not. We agreed on $800 a month, and there’s no way mowing your half-acre is worth that much. Here, take teh check, and for god’s sake cash it.”
FtR: “Well, I need to give you a break for the work you did, though. Plus your came over and made me dinner eight times this month. So just tear that one up and give me $100.”
StR: “Dad, will you just take the money like we agreed? We have a lease and everything. Now today’s the first, so take the money.”
FtR: “Look, I don’t need your money. Why don’t you put it in the bank or, even better, buy your wife some jewelry. I saw a nice brooch over at Goldsmith’s.”
StR: “Damn it, Dad, take the money!”
FtR: “Boy, you curse at me! I don’t need your goddamned money!”
StR: “TAKE THE FUCKING MONEY! YOU NEED IT FOR YOUR PRESCRIPTIONS!!!”
FtR: “NO!! I DON’T NEED YOUR CHARITY! NOW GO BUY A PRESENT FOR YOUR WIFE!!! OR GIVE IT TO THE CHURCH! ALSO, START GOING TO CHURCH!!!”
Kim the Rhymer: (sighing) Your neighbors called the police on us again, Mr. Rhymer. I’m going to go sit in the back while you two handle this."