MILLA: Hey, Ali, congrats on the pregnancy!
ALI: Thank you! Don’t I look fetching in my maternity sparkles?
MILLA: Deeply! And don’t I look fetching in my shirt, with these leg-pants?
ALI: … Yes. Actually, I was going to ask if I could borrow it.
MILLA: Borrow it? When?
ALI: For when I have the baby. It’d be the hottest birthing smock in town.
MILLA: Right? It’s TOTALLY the polar opposite of what I wore the other night:
MILLA: I mean, check out this tunic. It looks like the main course at the moth equivalent of the hot-dog eating challenge.
ALI: I AM NOT FAT. I’M JUST BREEDING.
MILLA: We know, sweetie.
ALI: Yeah, but everyone else might have forgotten, so I should touch my stomach in the sweet spot just to be sure. Not on top, where it’s comfortable to rest my hand. No, I have to go below. So that you know I’m not fat; I’m breeding. BREEDING.
WENTWORTH MILLER: High on a hill there’s a lonely goatherd, lady-o-di-lady-o-di-lad-i-hoooooo.
ALI: What’s with him?
MILLA: Big Sound of Music fan.
WENTY: Adieu, adieu, to you and you and you…
ALI: Let’s just take his advice. I’m creeped out.
