As I cleared the breakfast dishes, Emma mentioned that scientists were redefining the second. “Says here in the paper,” she said, looking at me with her eyebrows raised.

“As long as the foot stays a foot,” I said, countering her assertation, if that’s what it was.

“As a matter of fact,” she said, “it seems a foot can be expressed in seconds. The distance it takes light to travel something or other. In a vacuum. Time measures all.”

“I guess I should keep my feet out of vacuums,” I said.

“You do have nice feet,” Emma asserted. “Hate to have them shrink unduly. Or expand without authorized provocation.”

“Speaking of time, though,” I mentioned, “it seems our bird clock may be losing it.”

“Where is it losing it?” she asked.

“Down a rabbit hole?”

“So maybe this is a good time for a foot fuck,” she said.

“Really?”

“No time like the present she said, pulling down her panties.