Imagine if you will, two very podgy women (chubby is kind, fat is rude) who look much like each other, lying down side by side on a large wrough-iron bed, lazing a late Sunday afternoon away. A tiny little, wiry, curly-haired golliwog, gets up on the bed, bottle in hand, finds a sliver of space in-between these two women, plonks himself down and starts drinking his evening snack. Each woman takes a tiny leg in her hand and starts playing with the little foot and tiny, adorable toes. The little scamp revels in the attention and lays there, relaxed, happy and sucking on the bottle long-after the milk is over and the bottle is practically sun-scorched dry.
An young, pretty woman with long-dark hair who helps take care of the little boy with twinkling stars in his eyes, stands there and asks for the bottle. A thought crosses his mind, he smiles mischievously and throws her the bottle, saying 'Cashe'. Caught unawares, the young woman stretches out her arms, but of course the teeny-tiny tot can't throw hard enough and so the bottle lands on the older woman's nose. There are looks and loud exclamations of surprise. The little boy's mouth forms an 'O' and he quickly covers it with his two soft, baby hands and waits to be chastised. When that moment passes, he gives a nervous giggle of relief, turns to the younger of the two women, snuggles into her neck and laughs. She turns, lifts him up, plops him down on her chest and holds him tight.
She looks over at her mother, who is watching her with her grandson and they share a smile.
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