Brewing and brooding: Poor

After another night of "will he / won't he?", French Husband frowns at me across the breakfast table.

Last night, I was just lying awake and something was really bothering me, he says.

Mmm? I ask, perking up slightly.

Yeah, I was thinking about that bottle of beer you brought me back from Ile de Ré. It's organic, right? Right. But then how come the same local brewery makes both organic and non-organic beer? I mean, what's the difference?
(he's becoming quite animated now)
Do you see what I mean? I mean, do they just make both types of beer in the same brewery, then chuck a few chemicals in the non-organic version? I don't get it. I just don't get it.

I stare at him as he frowns into the depths of his coffee cup. My mind - for once - is a total and utter blank.

After a few seconds of confused silence, our eyes meet.

I think we're both just really ready for this baby to arrive, I say.

He nods.