Salted milk and one small remembrance from my childhood (#shortstory)

Every time I listen or read about France or about anything French, one special moment of my childhood comes to my memory. I was maybe 5 or 6 and my brother was studying for his French test the next day. We went to a Swiss school in which we had to learn French since the fourth grade. However, neither my brother nor I are fluent French speakers now.

My brother was studying his lesson, sitting on a chair between our two parallel beds. My mom was forcing him to repeat the lines “oh non, c'est mauvais, c'est salé ja ja ja ja ja ”. The phrase belonged to a longer story about a little girl who tricked her sleepy brother into pouring salt instead of sugar on his warm milk. When the boy drunk it, he made a sour face and spat the white liquid all over the place. I recall that from the pictures on the book that I, myself, would have to study a few years later later. After the whole scene the boy would get really upset and the girl would start laughing uncontrollably.   

Every time my brother tried to repeat the sentence I laughed. It happened several times until my mother asked me to stay calm and stop interrupting him. The lighting in the room was yellow, like the old light that shone from the old bulbs that you can hardly buy now. It might have been a Sunday evening. On the beds there were white covers with cars of many colors.