You know it's cold when Uncle Gord's nipples harden.

I told Laura I was going to go straight home tonight to blog about my Uncle Gordon's nipples, and honestly, I just don't like going back on my word.

Tonight Laura came over late late late, ate an obscene amount of McDonalds, and then her and I drove out to the Berry Farm where the Uncles and Brad were working late.

My Uncle Gord took us around to see the Berry Farm .... at midnight, so we saw whatever was directly in front of the headlights and some vague shapes that might have been raspberry cane, but what were most likely just trees and possibly my Uncles' dog, lurking in the night, waiting for an oppurtune moment to lunge for my jugular.

Or possibly lying in the dark licking furiously at the most enormous pair of dog balls I have ever seen.

Not that I've seen a lot in my day, but Christ. He was gnawing on one of them like it was a particularly well loved soccer ball.

After the Berry Farm tour was over, Laura and I introduced Uncle Gordon to "Love Takes Time" karaoke style, followed by us singing along to the song "Walkin' In Memphis" that he had in his own personal cd collection. The only way that song could've been made better was if he'd had the version as sung by Cher. Because then I could have done my Cher impression, where I flip my hair and go as low as possible and then imagine I'm wearing a revealing Bob Mackie creation that exposes my navel, rather than a polo shirt that rides up every time I bend over.

Laura also let Brad, Uncle Ron and Uncle Gord know that she was on the prowl to find a way into the Sovereign family. She followed this by trying to convince my Uncle Ron that he HAD to know who Mariah Carey was. We were sitting in Santorelli's, and Laura began singing the entire Mariah Carey catalog, BECAUSE SHE'D BE DAMNED IF SHE LET UNCLE RON LEAVE THAT TABLE WITHOUT KNOWING THE EXQUISITE BLISS OF VISION OF LOVE.

On the way to Santorelli's, I almost blew a stop sign because Laura and I were singing "Total Eclipse of the Heart", and had so immersed ourselves into it, with fist microphones, flailing and finger waving meant to represent "no" that I kind of forgot to watch the road. That's fine though. It's not like Northwestern Ontario is teeming with moose or anything.

At the end of the night, just before we left, my Uncle Ron was showing off the artistic way he'd arranged his plate. The tomatoes were stacked on top of each other and speared with a toothpick.

Uncle Ron: See? That's the CN Tower. He gestured to his napkin lying beside it. And that's a gust of wind blowing in towards the CN Tower.
Me: Gesturing to his french fries. And what are those?
Uncle Ron: Those? Those are french fries, retard.