It happened in the grocery store, in the aisle with the canned beans.
Mr. KK was checking off the list when I suddenly started twisting my torso like a contortionist, and flailing my left arm against my side.
MR. KK: "What are you doing?"
KK: "OHMYGOD! My left tit is SO itchy! All of a sudden!"
Instead doing his husbandly duties of creating a nice shield from the other crazy shoppers who are up at this ungodly hour on a Sunday, Mr. KK simply stands there, staring at me.
MR. KK: "You look ridiculous."
KK: "Oh, really? I'm sorry. It's just that I want to RIP OFF my boob because it's SO FREAKIN' ITCHY."
It's about 8 degrees out, so I'm wearing about 27 layers of clothing, making it nearly impossible to get a good scratch. Even if I unzip my parka and sneak a hand inside, I still have a scarf, zipped up track jacket, long-sleeved t-shirt and a bra to get through.
In the frozen foods aisle, Mr. KK leans over and gives my left boob a squeeze. (We can do that kind of stuff because we're married. It's weird when strangers do that to you.)
MR. KK: "How's it doing?"
KK: "It was fine until you started the sensation again."