a not-altogether-too-uncommon colloquy in the SmockMaison.
hub: (switching off the alarm clock) s'time t'getup. you gettin' the kids breakfast?
smockmomma: (lovingly nuzzles the brow of the babe cradled to her breast) i cannot at this moment for i am feeding our baby.
smockmomma: (shocked) oh my! the dogs are eating the dirt off your shoes.
hub: (muses over his shoulder) why don't you feed the dogs?
smockmomma: (lovingly staring down at the babe cradled in her arms) i fear i simply cannot for i am feeding our precious baby.
hub: (inquires absently) are you hungry yet?
smockmomma: (answers thoughtfully) hmm... i think i am.
hub: whater y'cookin? HA!
smockmomma: (smiles sweetly) i would love to be able to cook something tasty and wholesome for you at present, my dearest darling. alas, (kissing the forehead of the babe cradled in her arms) i cannot for i am feeding my baby.
hub: (sniffs) what's fer dinner?
smockmomma: (patiently) dinner will be ready shortly, darling.
hub: (scratches) lemme guess. you can't cook cuz yer feedin' the baby.
smockmomma: (knits her brow, puzzled) whatever do you mean, dearest lover?
hub: (snorts) i swear i'd grow a breast if it got me outta doin half the stuff you use it to get outta. (mimicks) i can't do this, i'm feeding the baby. i simply can't do that, i'm breastfeeding.
hub: YES! i wanna lay around all day wrapped in a fleece blanket like a burrito feeding the baby.
smockmomma: all day?
smockmomma: i see.
hub: damn straight you see.
hub: that's more like it. (snaps the paper for emphasis and sets it aside)
smockmomma: (nods emphatically)
hub: (clearing his throat) now. what do you want me to make for dinner?