Well, only one of them actually podded, but they both contributed genetic material.
I thought she looked a little bit preg when they moved in, but I figured she was just built that way; for what kind of lunatic moves into a shared house to drop sprog? Then her husband came into the kitchen while I was having breakfast this morning: hi Alice, how are you today, I had a baby last night.
I congratulated him and gave him a big hug, because contrary to prevailing belief in my family I do know how to behave like a civilised human being. I asked him if, er, the baby was coming to live here. He said yes, is that OK?
I said: “Absolutely not! Get your wife to put it back in her womb at once!” Nah, I just gave a sickly grin and staggered off to brush my teeth.
My sodding housemates have had a bloody baby. Say what you will about the last batch of people I lived with, they never did that.
What does one do in this situation? I like it here. I have a comfy room. I was the first to move in, and was given no indication that I would shortly be living in a crêche. On the other hand, I would not dream of casting a newborn babe out into the cold at Christmastide.
Oh yes I would.