[knocking]
“Anne, you home? Hello?”
“Oh, hey Pete. I’m just downstairs. Come on in.”
“Hey, great. Listen I brought over those jars of…what the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m photographing babies. Isn’t this a great celebration of life?”
“Is…is that baby shoved inside a watermelon?”
“Sure! Isn’t it cute?”
“Well. It’s not without a certain charm. But, I don’t know, isn’t cramming things inside other things a little weird? Terducken? Other stuff? Ah, intercourse! We both know how you feel about intercourse!”
“Oh, stop it. It’s fun.”
“It’s kinda creepy, Anne. Kinda really creepy.”
“Babies aren’t creepy. You’re being a jerk.”
“I don’t think so. I mean, babies aren’t always creepy. Let me make an analogy. Wait. That baby is alive, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Let me make an analogy. Do you think that a 4th grade boy is creepy?”
“No.”
“Now imagine you came over to my house and found I’d shoved a nude 4th grader inside a gourd and was taking pictures. In my basement with professional photography equipment.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“And where are the parents?”
“I ask that the parents head out for a while so I can really get to know the baby’s personality.”
“Personality? What the fuck? And someone thought that was a good idea? Okay, sure, we’ll just head out while this weirdo does god knows what with our baby in her basement.”
“Stop being weird. We’ll see who’s laughing when my photographs are hanging in homes and businesses all over the world.”
“Haha, yeah. You know what? You’re right. You’re right. In that CRAZY world where people hang pictures of stranger babies in bizarre and bordeline abusive settings, I’ll be the one who looks like an asshole. Good one. I’m out of here. Enjoy the cops when they get here.”