For Thanksgiving just a couple months ago, we decided to go to California to see my sister, Abby, and her family. The trip there is six hours, and about four hours in, we were ready for a break. We stopped at an Arby's, got our orders (which were fantastically disgusting, I'd like to say) and sat down at a table. There was only one more family in the dining area, sitting all the way across the room from us.
So we sit down, and we're all happy and eating, and then Savvy starts to cry. And then panic. And she's yelling (loud enough for it to reverberate off the walls of the place), "My foot! There's something on my foot! My foooot!!" So Phill quickly comes to the rescue, unlacing her pink Converse and sliding it off.
With shaky hands, she reaches down, and we can see that her sock has sort of slipped and formed a little fold, an annoying little bump near the toe. She whips the sock off, and then laughs with relief, actually near tears in her happiness. Then, feeling free and joyous, she yells loudly enough for all to hear, "OH! It was just a NIPPLE! A nipple in my shoe!"
I'm still puzzling that one out.