Gina grinned at the expression of pleasure on her brother’s face, he had finally found something he liked better than eating. Gina wondered if her doctor could give her something to make her give milk. She’d call him up and make an appointment tomorrow. It would be nice to breast feed her little baby boy. She was sure he’d enjoy her titties. What was the word he used to describe himself? Epi-cur-rean? That was it. He’d like his Mommy’s titties, he was an Epicurean!

The baby murmured in pleasure in seeming agreement with his Mommy’s plans and said, “mmmmmmmm!”

 

Sunday’s Child

 

When that was, the soft mist

Of my regret hung not on all the land,

And I was glad for thee,

And glad for me, I wist.

Robert Frost, My Butterfly st. 18