There's something absurd about family dinners. I'm pretty sure that something is my family. (a Very Typical Tale from PseudoJudaism)
My maternal grandmother and I share a strange sort of bond. Until a few years ago I just found her irritating, and while it's still annoying to be constantly offered food some humour has crept in under the door. She and my grandfather were over at our place around this time last year, and grandad insisted on having a "Pesach" "Seder" - and I use both terms loosely, even in quotation marks as they are. For one thing, the matzah on the table was completely at odds with the three loaves of bread and countless biscuits remaining in the house.

My grandad had resently had a resurgence of religious feeling, so he lit a candle in the window and was wearing a jaunty white headpiece which kept falling off. He also insisted on loudly mispronouncing some prayer or another at dinner. And then doing it again. Because he felt like it. Meanwhile my mother was desperately trying to feed my brother his (totally not kosher-le-pesach) porridge, an event which escalated into him crying and her yelling at him and trying to shove the spoon in his mouth, still to the tune of grandad's incomprehensible Hebrew, and my grandma and I just shared this Look. It went something like "you've gotta laugh or you'll cry."

Then my grandad started going on about how we were supposed to have an egg, and bitter herbs, and a shank bone, whatever that is. So I rolled my eyes, got up, pulled a raw egg, an onion and a random piece of meat (raw) out of the fridge and dumped them on the table.

"And apples! Apples and honey!"
"Grandad, that's for Rosh Ha Shana."
"Apples! Ira, pick up my hat, it's fallen down again."

My dad was fiddling with things in the kitchen (because there weren't enough stools around the tiny table and he couldn't be bothered going and fetching a big chair) and my brother had exhausted my mum's supply of persuasive techniques and was climbing on the couch. I retreated back into my corner with a jar of mulberry jam and a spoon (and some matzah, why not). Then my mum asked for the prawns, so I got up to get them, and what do I hear around the corner but a crack and the following (and do remember that all conversation is primarily in Russian):

"Whoops."
"What's the matter?"
"The egg's raw."
"I thought it was boiled?"
"...it's not."

I return to find that yes, my grandad has indeed tried to eat the egg. Which was now sitting drippily in a bowl on the table.

Naturally, we all CRACKED up laughing.
(Lieutenant Colonel Oblivious brought to you by intravenous sugar, Sun 22 Mar 2009, 14:05, 2 replies)

Interesting
Also, I SMELL A SITCOOOOOOOOOOM!

Seriously, you guys need a sitcom.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Sun 22 Mar 2009, 14:15, closed)

I have often thought this myself
so I save up all these stories in a tag on my livejournal, that way when they reach critical mass I will have a handy reference to refresh my memory.
(Lieutenant Colonel Oblivious brought to you by intravenous sugar, Tue 24 Mar 2009, 11:44, closed)