One chilly morning in January, I phoned Squid for his birthday. As I padded barefoot between the living room window and the kitchen talking about how far up the simulated brainstem one might nestle robot :: human affective bonding, I casually made reference to a story idea I had.

“Oh, wow,” he said. “You have to write that story.”

“It’s a one-liner,” I said. “It’s trite.”

“But it’s great! You can do it in a thousand words. Come on, you have to.”

...At lesser provocation have wars been waged and empires built. Be careful what you wish for, people, especially when what you wish for is a story about a very clever piece of furniture who loves, really loves, a brilliant physicist.* (Also there are origami cars and a household “Internet of Things” and talking toilets that can do pregnancy tests. But those are just icing.) Otherwise I might just demand your help revising the story, relying on your superior prose skills for assistance, only to call you halfway through the editing process just to say “WE SHOULD MAKE FICTION BABIES POST-HASTE.”

Speaking of which, you know what’s good for that? The Missionary Position.

*Note: The story should also be available in the print edition of Nature, on the back page in the “Futures” section. Granted, you will have to find a newsstand or bookstore which carries it, or hit your local library.