Close knit

Sunday. A decent day meant that garden-sitting was possible. There were lots of us: my uni friends, plus boyfriends. Elinor was in charge of catering. You could tell because she was wearing the apron. And also it was her house.

Elinor accuses me of using short sentences. Perhaps she is right.

Anyway, in the garden we were, chatting away. There were two sets of new parents amongst us - along with their (OK, I'll admit it) fairly cute progeny. Talk progressed to ante-natal classes. This is a subject I'll admit to having fairly limited experience in. This, however, does not normally prevent me from giving an opinion.

"So," continued Jo to Corinne, "did you have a knitted womb?"

"Sorry," I interjected. "I think I misheard. What did you say?"

Jo said, "I was just asking whether or not Corinne had a knitted womb at her ante-natal classes."

"That's what I thought you said," said I. "A knitted womb?"

"Yes," said Corinne. "We did. We had a whole knitted reproductive system that we had to push a bean-bag baby through. You can actually get the knitting patterns, in case you wish to knit yourself a woollen vagina."

I was too helpless with laughter at this point to contribute meaningfully to the conversation. However, I do vaguely remember Jo saying, "This better not end up on your blog..."

Oops. Sorry.