“Look at my friend’s baby,” I say to MindReader.
“Aaah,” he says.
“Can we have babies?” I say, despite more than half the time not being sure I want them. But that is a whole other blog, but in short, expressed very well here.
“Of course,” MindReader says. “They might be ginger though.”
He turns and the light from the lamp catches his strawberry-blond hair.
“Mmm,” I say.
He wraps his arms around me and abentmindedly strokes my mane of unkempt hair and the downy hair that covers my arms that I was so selfconscious of, until him.
“What will they look like, otherwise?” I say.
“Monkeys,” he sighs.
