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| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | 
      Seventeen years ago, Mrs. Elizabeth Bee grunted in the delivery room. She huffed and puffed like Billy Goat Gruff, squeezing down on her husband George's hand. Once the babe arrived, glistening and healthy, she and George kissed with such passion that the three nurses agreed another baby would soon follow. 
PICTURE GOES HERE
      George ran a moist washcloth along his sweet wife's forehead. "My darling, let's name the baby after you. She has your toes exactly, and just look at the shape of the baby's noses."
       Mrs. Bee looked in his eyes and saw twinkling to rival the Las Vegas strip. She consented to his adoration. Elizabeth the Second entered the world. 
      Not that Elizabeth the First ever had the slightest doubt, but George proved his worth ten times over through exuberant fathering. He loved diapering and powdering. He stewed fresh vegetables then mashed them to baby-consistency. He raced home for lunch each day from the Food Additive Factory to spoil his queen and his heir. 
     Their love-making resumed with classic Bee zest. Afterwards, snuggling against his wife, George whispered in his beloved's ear: "That gush just might be twins." 
 
 CONTINUE WITH PART TWO

 
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