(Scene: Kitchen at La Casa. Brooke has just returned from work, and is tearing around like a mad woman getting ready to head out to yoga. She’s simultaneously toasting a muffin, getting out the peanut butter, pouring drinks and conversing with Army Boy about his day. Contrary to popular belief, she does not in fact have 3 sets of hands.)
Army Boy: So then, they said that I was taking the gravy jobs! Do you believe the nerve!?
Brooke: (mouthful of food, nodding in agreement) Mmmrph.
Army Boy: (pauses, thoughtfully) Um… So what was in the little brown bag that was left on our front step earlier?
Brooke: (giggle) Oh, that was just a delivery from the party I attended a couple of weeks ago.
AB: WHAT?! Did you open it?!
Brooke: Yeah, everything’s there. (gives a casual thumbs-up)
AB: (bouncing like a child after too much Kool-Aid) ….. WHATISITWHATISIT?!?!?!?!
Brooke: Oh mah gahd. Just a minute.
(She goes to the bedroom, and returns with an innocuous paper bag. Army Boy’s eyes grow big as saucers and she reaches in and pulls out… a lotion bottle.)
AB: You go to a sex toy party and buy… LOTION?
Brooke: No. It’s Coochy cream.
Brooke: Shaving cream. For, you know… areas that you don’t want razor burn.
AB: Ohhhhhhh. (takes bottle, examines it.) It says it can be used as hair conditioner too.
(Brooke raises one eyebrow)
AB: I see… “Good for all types of hair, especially stubborn, coarse stubble.” (Pats his cheeks experimentally)
Brooke: Noooooo. No no no. I had BETTER not come home and find you with my Coochy on your face.
(Pause. Both struggle NOT TO LAUGH)
(Also totally not all I got, but do you really want to know?!)