"Brother likes girls", it was my mother who was imitating the 4-year-old me in a cooing voice. Her lame, artificial and inferior performance still aroused unbridled laughter from the people around her. She always used these words to demonstrate her son's "cute" behavior, so much so that for a long time I was treated like a freebie because of this statement.
At this moment, my brother pushed open the door and came in with a new girlfriend. Listening to my mother's imitation, he had a weird smile on his face. The silly woman who was about to be eaten looked at me like she was looking at a beautiful rag doll. . . . . . .