I just complimented a complete stranger on the absolute adorability of their child. Admittedly, it was a darling little girl, with fat cheeks and a little rosebud mouth made for slobbery kisses (in a non-pedophilic way. You know what I mean) all trussed up in a red and yellow hat and a big big scarf, but where have these maternal urges come from, all of a sudden? I'm beaming at babies, and cooing over children's clothing, and... it somehow just doesn't compute. I'm supposed to be all hard and cool, staying away from children because they'll bespoil my carefully planned ensembles. Nannies are my byword. Children? Cute, but... you know.
Had I been left alone with that little girl, there would have been an extremely high chance of my eating her cheeks, they were that scrumptiously plump. Ahhh... babies.