Put some jam on the fetus.

Today I was relating a story of no importance to my sister.

And then suddenly it took a odd turn.

What follows is the gist of our conversation.
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Me: So this woman comes into the bakery with a little tiny baby, four weeks old.

Her: Yeah?

Me: Yeah, so anyway, this baby was wicked tiny
(we're from Boston, we say wicked)

Her: Yeah?

Me: Kinda it looked like a fetus really. It was that small.

Her: Spread some jam on the fetus.

Me: What?

Her: Yeah, spread some jam on the fetus, make it look newborn.

Me: Well, it was crying to beat the band.


Her: Probably because it was sticky. From the jam.

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This is the kind of conversations we have when she is sleepy and I am sugar deprived.