Fred came home from university in tears.
“Mum, am I adopted?” he cried, bursting into the kitchen like a soap opera character.
His mother, startled and holding a spoonful of mashed potatoes, replied, “No, of course not, darling! Why on earth would you think such a thing?”
Fred sniffled and pulled out a sheet of paper like it was a court summons. “I did one of those genealogy DNA tests for my biology class. You know, just for fun. And look!”
He thrust the results toward her. She squinted.
“99.9% Scandinavian?” she read aloud.
“Yes! And you and Dad are both 100% British! I’m basically a Viking, and you’re a pair of crumpets!”
His mother blinked. “Fred, I’m pretty sure your father’s temper counts as Viking heritage.”
“Mum, it says I’m genetically predisposed to love ice fishing and fermented herring. I faint at the sight of sardines!”
Just then, Fred’s dad walked in holding a TV remote like it was a scepter.
“What’s all this yelling? Did someone finally find my missing socks?”
Fred turned dramatically. “Dad, am I adopted?”
His dad raised an eyebrow. “If you are, we want a refund.”
Fred waved the DNA test. “This says I’m Scandinavian. There’s not a single trace of British in my genome!”
His dad took the paper, squinted like he was reading ancient Viking runes, and said, “Looks more like one of those online quizzes that told me I was a breadstick in a past life.”
“It’s legit!” Fred cried. “It says my ancestors pillaged villages while yours were planting potatoes!”
His mother sighed and sat him down. “Fred, listen carefully. We are not hiding anything. You were born in St. Mary’s Hospital, delivered by a doctor who sneezed mid-push, and you came out looking like a confused meatball. We have pictures.”
Fred’s face fell. “Then how do you explain the DNA test?”
They all sat in silence. Then, suddenly, his dad slapped the table.
“Oh! That test! Did you use the kit from that website called ‘KnowYoGenes’?”
“Yeah!” Fred nodded. “You’ve heard of it?”
His dad smirked. “That’s not a real DNA company, Fred. That’s the same site I used to figure out which Lord of the Rings character I am. Spoiler: I’m an orc.”
Fred stared in horror.
His mother added, “Did it also tell you your spirit animal is a walrus with a bachelor’s degree?”
Fred slowly nodded.
His parents burst into laughter. His mother patted his hand. “Darling, next time your biology class asks for a genetic test, try using the free one from the university. Not one that gives you a Viking name and a battle axe emoji.”
Fred groaned and buried his face in his hands. “So I’m not adopted, just gullible?”
“Exactly,” said his dad proudly. “You take after your Uncle Terry.”
Moral of the story? Always read the fine print — especially if your DNA test comes with a discount code for medieval armor.
