My wife won’t stop complaining about how long she spends breast-pumping for our new son.
She’s really milking it for all it’s worth.
I was in line at a restaurant. In front of me was a mother with her college-age son and his girlfriend. It was the middle of the dinner rush, and many customers were restless at the long wait, but the young couple, holding hands and kissing, were oblivious to everything around them. Although clearly not approving, the mother was silent, until one prolonged kiss when the young man had his face and hands buried in his girlfriend's long, curly locks.
"Do you have to do that here?" the embarrassed mother asked.
"I'm not doing anything, Mom," came her son's muffled voice. "My earring's caught in her hair."