"I want a child, Cher," Bambi said, leaning her head on the heel of her palm and stirring her oat porridge absentmindedly.

"And you couldn't wait to get dressed before getting this sudden epiphany," Cherry raised an eyebrow. She stood in front of the electric cooker, watching the pancake dough in three frying pans slowly congeal while eyeing the inactive toaster suspiciously. She slapped its plug and waited. The light on its side turned back on.

Triumphant, she turned back to Bambi. "Well?"

Bambi sighed dramatically. "You know how I get about my epiphanies. And you know how I feel about clothes."

Cherry stared the towel tied above Bambi's breasts, the one that always threatened to fall off at the most inopportune moments. She wasn't looking forward to a naked Bambi walking about her living room because she was too tired to tie it back. "Why do you want a child when you're one yourself?"

"Come on, Cher. Don't be like that."

"No, I'm coming on." Cherry slapped her spatula on the counter and leaned forward until her nose brushed Bambi's. "I can just imagine it. The kid is three years old, it's his birthday. You decide to treat him to a Penguins Of Madagascar movie marathon and at the scene where the tiger in the circus passes through the pinkie-sized ring, he asks, 'Mama, was that diapedesis?'"

"Cherry, you can't still be mad about that."

"I didn't even know what diapedesis was!"

"But now you do," Bambi pointed out and shovelled a spoon of cold oats into her mouth. She gagged and shuddered. "Disgusting."

"Stay away from my son, Bambs."

"He's not your son," Bambi pointed out again through a mouthful of porridge.

"Well, he's not yours either," Cherry snapped.

There was silence as Bambi contemplated those words.

"Touché," she shrugged. "How is the little fetus anyway?"

"Toddler, Bambi. He stopped being a fetus three years ago."

"Come on, Cher. He hardly toddles anymore."

"And he's not in my womb either."

"I call him fetus out of love."

"Call yourself fetus."