“Oooh,” moans Brat, clutching her chest and doubling over. “Oooh, oooh, oooh.”
Brows raised, Beamer and I look at each other and then turn to stare at Brat. We’re in the middle of the baby supply aisle when our little sister goes into a full body spasm.
Brat rubs a hand across the front of her shirt and contorts her face. “That has to hurt.”
Beamer stutters a laugh. “What has to hurt?”
“That.” Brat points at the shelves.
Beamer studies the display. “The nipple brush?”
“Oooh.” Brat nods. “Oooh, oooh, oooh.”
I snort as Beamer says. “You don’t use the brush on your nipples, you use it to clean baby bottles.”
“Oh,” says Brat, as she saunters down the aisle, “never mind.”