At some hour when I was awake in the night, I switched off the alarm. But I woke up about my usual time, as my bladder can't be switched off. So I got up, took care of it, refreshed for the day, decided that I wanted to live, slid into a coverall, went silently into the living room, and opened the buttery, considered my larder. A special guest called for a special breakfast.

I left the connecting door open so that I could keep an eye on Gwen. I think it was the aroma of coffee that woke her.

When I saw that her eyes were open, I called out, "Good morning, beautiful. Get up and brush your teeth; breakfast is ready."

"I did brush my teeth, an hour ago. Come back to bed."

"Nymphomaniac. Orange juice or black cherries or both?"

"Uh... both. Don't change the subject. Come here and meet your fate like a man."

"Eat first."

"Coward. Richard is a sissy, Richard is a sissy!"

"An utter coward. How many waffles can you eat?"

"Uh ... decisions! Can't you unfreeze them one at a time?"

"These are not frozen. Only minutes ago they were alive and singing; I killed 'em and skun 'em myself. Speak up, or I'll eat all of them."

"Oh, the pity and the shame of it all!-turned down for waffles. Nothing left but to enter a monastery. Two."

"Three. You mean 'nunnery.'"

"I know what I mean." She got up, went into the refresher, was out quickly, wearing one of my robes. Pleasant bits of Gwen stuck out here and there. I handed her a glass of juice;

she paused to gulp twice before she spoke. "Gurgle, gurgle. My, that's good. Richard, when we're married, are you going to get breakfast for me every morning?"

"That inquiry contains implied assumptions I am not willing to stipulate-"

"After I trusted you and gave all!"

"-but, without stipulation, I will concede that I would just as lief get breakfast for two as for one. Why do you assume that I'm going to marry you? What inducements do you offer? Are you ready for a waffle?"

"See here, mister, not all men are fussy about marrying grandmothers! I've had offers. Yes, I'm ready for a waffle."

"Pass your plate." I grinned at her. "'Grandmother' my missing foot. Not even if you had started your first child at menarche, then your offspring had whelped just as promptly."

"Neither one and I am so. Richard, I am trying to make two things clear. No, three. First, I'm serious about wanting to marry you if you'll hold still for it... or, if you won't, I'll keep you as a pet and cook breakfast for you. Second, I am indeed a grandmother. Third, if, despite my advanced years, you wish to have children by me, the wonders of modern microbiology have kept me fertile as well as relatively un-wrinkled. If you want to knock me up, it should not be too much of a chore."

"I could force myself. Maple syrup in that one, blueberry syrup in this. Or maybe I did so last night?"

"Wrong date by at least a week... but what would you say if I had said, 'Jackpot!'"

"Quit joking and finish your waffle. There's another one ready."

"You're a sadistic monster. And deformed."

"Not deformed," I protested. "This foot was amputated; I wasn't born without it. My immune system flatly refuses to accept a transplant, so that's that. One reason I live in low gravity."

Gwen suddenly sobered. "My very dear! I wasn't speaking of your foot. Oh, heavens! Your foot doesn't matter... except that I'll be more careful than ever not to place a strain on you, now that I know why."

"Sorry. Let's back up. Then what is this about me being •deformed'?"

At once she was again her merry self. "You should know! When you've got me stretched all out of shape and no use to a normal man. And now you won't marry me. Let's go back to bed."

"Let's finish breakfast and let it settle first-have you no mercy? I didn't say I wouldn't many you... and I did not stretch you."

"Oh, what a sinful lie! Will you pass the butter, please? You're deformed all right! How big is that tumor with the bone in it? Twenty-five centimeters? More? And how big around? If I had seen it first, I would have never risked it."

"Oh, piffle! It's not even twenty centimeters. I didn't stretch you; I'm just middlin' size. You should see my Uncle Jock. More coffee?"

"Yes, thank you. You surely did stretch me! Uh... is your Uncle Jock actually bigger than you are? Locally?"

"Much."

"Uh... where does he live?"

"Finish your waffle. Do you still want to take me back to bed? Or do you want a note to my Uncle Jock?"

"Why can't I have both? Yes, a little more bacon, thank

you. Richard, you're a good cook. I don't want to marry Uncle Jock; I'm just curious."

"Don't ask him to show it to you unless you mean business ... because he always means business. He seduced his Scoutmaster's wife when he was twelve. Ran away with her. Caused considerable talk in southern Iowa because she didn't want to give him up. That was over a hundred years ago when such things were taken seriously, at least in Iowa."

"Richard, are you implying that Uncle Jock is over a hundred and still active and virile?"

"A hundred and sixteen and still jumping his friends' wives, daughters, mothers, and livestock. And has three wives of his own under the Iowa senior-citizen cohabitation code, one of them-my Aunt Cissy-being still in high school."

"Richard, I sometimes suspect that you are not always entirely truthful. A mild bent toward exaggeration."

"Woman, that is no way to talk to your future husband. Behind you is a terminal. Punch it for Grinnell, Iowa; Uncle Jock lives just outside. Shall we call him? You talk to him real pretty and he might show you his pride and joy. Well, dear?"

"You are just trying to get out of taking me back to bed."

"Another waffle?"

"Quit trying to bribe me. Uh, a half, maybe. Split one with me?"

"No. A whole one for each of us."

'"Hail, Caesar!' You're the bad example I've always needed. Once we're married I'm going to get fat."

"I'm glad you said that. I had hesitated to mention it but you are a bit on the skinny side. Sharp comers. Bruises. Some padding would help."

I'll omit what Gwen said next. It was colorful, even lyrical, but (in my opinion) unladylike. Not her true self, so we won't record it.

I answered, 'Truly, it's irrelevant. I admire you for your intelligence. And your angelic spirit. Your beautiful soul. Let's not get physical."

Again I feel that I must censor.

"All right," I agreed. "If that's what you want. Get back into bed and start thinking physical thoughts. I'll switch off the waffle iron."

Somewhat later I said, "Do you want a church wedding?"

"Coo! Should I wear white? Richard, are you a church member?"

"No."

"Neither am I. I don't think you and I really belong in churches."

"I agree. But just how do you want to get married? So far as I know there isn't any other way to get married in the Golden Rule. Nothing in the Manager's regulations. Legally the institution of marriage does not exist here."

"But, Richard, lots of people do get married."

"But how, dear? I realize they do but, if they don't do it through a church, I don't know how they go about it. I've never had occasion to find out. Do they go to Luna City? Or down dirtside? How?"

"Whatever way they wish. Hire a hall and get some VIP to tie the knot in the presence of a crowd of guests, with music and a big reception afterwards... or do it at home with just a few friends present. Or anything in between. It's your choice, Richard."

"Huh uh, not mine. Yours. I simply agreed to go along. As for me, I find that a woman is at her best if she is a bit tense through being unsure of her status. Keeps her on her toes. Don't you agree? Hey! Stop that!"

"Then stop trying to get my goat. If you don't want to sing soprano at your own wedding."