(I’m at a bike rally with my uncle, who is a big, scary, biker guy. I’m a lesbian, and I’ve been trying to find a way to come out to him.)

Uncle: “Would you look at the rack on that one!”

Me: “What a waste.”

Uncle: “What do you mean?”

Me: “They’re too big.”

Uncle: “You are not my niece! There is no such thing as too much boob!”

Me: “Yes there is. You’re just a glutton.”

(A few days later…)

Uncle: “Were you trying to tell me something the other day?”

Me: “I’m gay?”

Uncle: “Well, you’re a lousy gay! There’s no such thing as too much boob!”

(I am about five years old, and the first niece on this side of the family. My uncle has announced at dinner that he’s going to be married.)
 
Me: “I can’t wait to be a flower girl!”
 
Uncle: “That’d be nice, sweetie. But [future aunt] has nieces, too. She may want them to be flower girls.”
 
(I set my fork down, and look my uncle right in the eyes, very seriously.)
 
Me: “Uncle, if you break my heart, I will never speak to you again.”
 
(My uncle got up from his meal to call his fiancée, and I got to be a co-flower girl! I have since apologized for emotional blackmail.)

(It’s a school morning and my mother and I are quizzing my 6-year-old niece on her spelling as she gets ready.)

Mother: “Spell… green.”

Niece: “G-r-e-e-n.”

Mother: “Very good!”

Me: *thinking it might be a challenge* “How about purple?”

Niece: “P-u-r-p-l-e.”

Me: *laughs* “Right.”

Mother: *as my niece finishes dressing* “Now, how about breakfast?”

(My niece gives us an exasperated look.)

Niece: “You know I can’t spell that!”

(I am with my extended family, telling them terrible jokes.)

Me: “Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?”

5-year-old niece: “No…”

Me: “They say it has awesome food, but no atmosphere!”

(Everyone laughs.)

Niece: “Oh…” *thinks for a moment* “Can we go?”

(My brother and niece are flying out of an airport that my mother and I have driven them to. We are waiting for their delayed flight to be rescheduled. She has just turned five.)

Niece: “I have to go to the bathroom!”

(I take her. Ten minutes later, she starts jumping up and down.)

Niece: “I have to go again.”

(This time, my mom takes her, and returns with her a few minutes later, saying she wouldn’t let Grandma into the stall, and she pooped, so we aren’t sure she wiped properly. I agree to take her back to double check, since they are boarding a four hour flight. We have a conversation in the stall.)

Me: “Now let me check to make sure you got all clean, okay?”

Niece: “I did, auntie.”

(I check and she does seem to have done a good job.)

Me: “Good job! I’m proud of you!”

Niece: “I told you! I did the hand test to make sure I was all clean!”

(She holds up her hand and waves it in my face. We immediately visit the sinks and I teach her the proper way to wash hands, while holding back my laughter. I then warned my brother about the ‘hand test’!)