Typical Sunday Dinner

On this particular Sunday (Easter), we were out in the backyard shooting at a squirrel target with pellet guns. Don't judge, we were bonding as a family and communing with nature.

Sara: Am I the only one here who realizes how redneck we are right now?
Lindsay: We'd be rednecks if we were drinking beer. But we're drinking wine, which is classy, so it cancels out the redneck part.
Sara: We're still shooting at a squirrel target with pellet guns on Easter.
Lindsay: But we are making it look classy.

This exchange happened while we were still out in the backyard doing target practice.

Dad: What I would like to do, when I have money, is buy you girls shot-guns.

Sara: But I want a glock.

Dad: That is, like, such an overrated gun.

Sara: But I want to fulfill my life's dream to be like Biggie!

Dad: And be dead...?

And this one happened after dinner while all seven of us were sitting around the table.

Sara (looking at the inside of her shoulder): I've got this weird rash all of a sudden.

Jesse: It looks like it's from the butt of the gun.

Sara: Oh yeah! That's probably what it is.

Dad: What? That little pellet gun doesn't have enough kickback to give you welts like that.

Lindsay: Well it's ribbed like the butt of the gun, and that's where you hold it. You're also wearing a tank top, so you don't have anything covering your skin.

Dad (looks at Sara very seriously): Is it a lesbian rash?

Sara: God, Dad, no! What is a lesbian rash anyways?

Dad: I don't know. You're the expert. 

Grandma: A what?

Jesse: A lesbian rash.

Grandma: Oh. Well that's not where one of those would be. (And then goes back to eating like this is a totally normal conversation)