Moira picked these never to-be ripened perinatal butternut squash, nestling them to her bosom as I tore their umbilical asunder. Moira is a staunch pro-lifer, she believes that every life, is a life that should see the culmination of its gestation. That anything less would be barbaric and murderous. To see her protect these bulbs of inconsequence, it makes me wonder what she’d do in a debate for choice.
Accidents aside of course, how was I supposed to know she would fall down the stairs?
What can I say? I love babies. Even squash babies. Even squash babies that are the product of a loveless vine-raping. All life is beautiful.