Darkness arrives with the polar tide, burying our chance of an explorative weekend which was dead before it started. The roof is still creaking.

I’m glad to be snowed in with you, says Musette.

And then she asks if when we have a baby I’d still like to be a stay at home dad.

Of course she knows I would. It’s sort of my number one dream. A fair consolation. A compromise.

Do you know what the task entails, she asks.

I guess that I do, but who can really be sure: changing diapers, heating up milk, rocking a cradle.

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