Bertram hurriedly parks his red XJ8 Jaguar beside his wife’s deep blue Mercedes. He steps out, throws his white towel around his neck, walks up to his mailbox, and retrieves his coil of mail. Precocious Camille, Peter’s twelve-year-old sister, is skipping up the sidewalk. She is about to perform her new song and dance. This is the third time she does this strange jig in front of Bertram. She spins around, swings her rope and twists her butt while singing her made-up song.

Bertram shakes his head and smacks his teeth. He paces steady steps away from this little mischief. He enters his house and kisses his ribbon-bow-pretty poodle Brandy nicknamed Poo. Felix the lucky cat sits idly on the far windowsill. Meow! "Meow" Bertram jeers. Then he proceeds to sort his mail. It has arrived. He smiles. "Pamela Honey," he calls out, announcing his presence, "my brochure arrived. Did you receive yours?"

"Yes, dear. Fill in the application, I’ll mail it tonight." Pamela answers from under her hot shower.

"Are you looking forward to going" Bertram asks. He does not realize Pamela is trying her darndest to wash away her thoughts. Her thoughts were riled by the povocative documentary, ‘License to kill’.

"I’m very much looking forward to going. Guess who else is going?"

"Who? Don’t tell me Dave. The bastard didn’t say a word." Bertram blurts.

"I don’t know about Dave... Deb."

"Oh! Is she?" Bertram's body shudders.

"It should be such fun. The buzz is, Dr. Likli Ling is at least every bit as good with the women as her husband is with you men. It should be loads of fun."

"Not too much fun, I hope."

"Why not?" She pauses from her lathering to be sure of Bertram’s response.

"We don’t want to corrupt the spiritual nature, do we?"

"Corrupt the spiritual nature?" She laughs. "Honey, don’t be a wet rag. How can great sex corrupt spirituality? Sex is sacred in itself. Sacredness is incorruptible."

"Didn’t ask for a theology lesson, honey. Did you make arrangements for Felix and Brandy?"

"Of course. The kid next door will baby sit them."

"Peter? (Oh God!) Not Peter! He isn’t a kid anymore, dear. He’s sixteen."

"Ah! Only a baby; a mere baby!"

"A Mare! I say."

"Yep. Merely a baby."

The showers’ steam rains down the bathroom windows.

Bertram scribbles swiftly, almost rattling the bookends on his desk.

"When will WE have a baby?" Pamela poses.

"Do you want a baby, dear?"

"I don’t know. Do you?"

"Make up your mind. You never do when it comes to home-type things like these, you know. I don’t understand. You know exactly what you want when you’re in the courtroom. "

"Well… you know… children ... that's is such a long term thing. A much harder decision, dear." Pamela lathers her breasts in circles, as she thinks up an appropriate response. "Sometimes, I think it would be so neat to have a bundle of joy, but then I watch how children are bandied about the courts; like pawns!"

"Isn’t that something?"

"I think it's wrong to bring anymore kids into this world. Totally wrong. The world is full. Besides, kids get sick! So easily. Too much pollution. This is not a friendly world these days. And you never know which giggling bundle of joy is that second Son-of-Sam masquerading in baby diapers. Can you imagine Ted Bundy in diapers?"

"That’s a sight."

"Maybe we should adopt; sustain my figurine perfection." Pamela laughs.

"Adopt?" Bertram pauses for a split second. He shakes his eyes.

"Yes. Older kids. Not babies. At least, then you know what you have."

"Would you like us to do that, then?"

"I don’t know. Wouldn’t that be neat, though? The Carters look so complete with their two adoptees. So with-it. So, so … pure. You know?"

"Pure? How come, pure?"

"They're on the solution side of the equation, Honey. Don’t you think? That side is pure. I think."

"Well, let me know when we get to the solution side, my dear. Leaving my application on the dresser; I’m late for volleyball. Got to go."

Bertram sticks his pen back into its wooden holder, push his chair back accidentally pinching Brandy Poo, and hurriedly begins unbuttoning his shirt.

"You filled that application out already?" Pamela is very surprised.

"Completely."

"Correctly?"

"Totally correctly."

"Including the survey?"

"Including the survey."

"Then go whip some buns, dear."

"See you later."

"Aren’t you going to kiss me before you leave?" Pamela swoons.

"Honey, you’re in the shower."

"So?"

"Okay, I’m blowing it to you… Here it comes… Did you get it?"

"Mmmm! A good wet one. Like honey. Well you have some fun, dear."

"I will. Bye."

"Tah-tah."