'It's not that I don't enjoy your ideas, baby,' explained Fon carefully. 'It's just that it's easier for you to invent them than it is for me to picture them. And when, like today, I'm hot and tired and thirsty and uncomfortable, I don't really enjoy the experience as much as you obviously do. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?'

'Yes,' mumbled Feisty, sulking.

'Please don't think I want you to stop imagining stuff. I don't. I just need a breather now and then.'

'So you don't want me to stop completely?'

'No, baby. Of course not. I love your ideas. I wish I could think of them myself. Well, not all of them; some of the stuff you come out with is pretty weird. All I'm saying is that I can only handle your imagination in small doses.'

'I see,' said Feisty, recovering. 'What if we had one day per week when I could tell you all my sh*t? I could save everything up and hit you with it on the weekend, when you're relaxed.'

'That could work.'

'Yeah? You wouldn't mind?'

'No, not at all. I'm just too tired during the week. If you gave me a break for six days, I'm sure I'd be fine on the seventh.'

Feisty gripped Fon's shoulder excitedly. 'Choose a day!'

Fon thought carefully. 'What about Saturday?'

'Does that include today?'

'No. I'm too hot. We'll start from next Saturday, OK?'

Feisty was momentarily disappointed. They were approaching a floating pontoon bridge. He had already invented the troll who lived beneath it and was bursting to tell.

The End.