[Scene: A cozy café in Lyon, France. Camille and Sophie, two close friends in their early thirties, are sipping coffee at a corner table. Sophie is visibly pregnant, around seven months along.]
Camille: (grinning) So… you’ll never guess what I saw last night when I was walking home.
Sophie: (raising an eyebrow) Hmm… a stray cat? A drunk tourist singing “La Vie en Rose” off-key?
Camille: Nope. An owl! Perched right on the tree outside your apartment building.
Sophie: (laughing) Oh no, here we go.
Camille: (serious, wide-eyed) Sophie, listen. That’s a sign. You know what they say — if a pregnant woman sees an owl, it means she’s having a girl.
Sophie: Camille… we’ve been over this. That’s just an old wives’ tale.
Camille: (nodding vigorously) Yes! An old wives’ tale that’s been around forever. There’s wisdom in these things, Sophie. My grandmother swore by it. When she was pregnant with my mother, she saw an owl three days before she gave birth. And voilà — baby girl.
Sophie: (grinning) That’s sweet, but it’s called coincidence. Or selective memory. You remember when it works, but forget the times it doesn’t.
Camille: But it keeps happening! My cousin Cécile saw an owl when she was pregnant with Clara. Girl. And that woman from the bakery? Owl sighting — baby girl.
Sophie: Okay, but for every Cécile, there’s a Pierre or a Mathieu whose mom probably saw an owl and didn’t mention it. Camille, you’re falling into what we call confirmation bias — only noticing evidence that supports what you already believe.
Camille: (playfully offended) Oh la la, Madame Rational strikes again.
Sophie: (laughing) Look, biology doesn’t care about owls. The baby’s sex is determined at conception — XX or XY chromosomes — and no bird, no matter how wise, is going to change that.
Camille: (pouting dramatically) But don’t you want a little magic in life, Sophie? Not everything has to be science and logic.
Sophie: I like magic when it’s card tricks or fireworks at Bastille Day. But when it comes to pregnancy, I’d rather trust my ultrasound.
Camille: (teasing) Ultrasound… pfff. So cold and clinical.
Sophie: (grinning) Well, the “cold and clinical” technician said “It’s a boy,” remember? So unless the owl’s planning a surprise gender swap…
Camille: (eyes widening) Wait — the ultrasound said boy?! Oh no. The owl says girl. That’s a conflict. We must consult the stars.
Sophie: (laughing hard) Please, no astrology on top of owls. My poor, science-loving heart can’t handle it.
Camille: (smiling mischievously) Fine, fine. But if you end up with a girl, I told you so. And if it’s a boy… well, the owl was probably near-sighted.
Sophie: (grinning) Deal. And when you have kids, I’m going to tell them how their brilliant mother once tried to out-predict medical imaging with birds.
Camille: (raising her coffee cup) To owls, ultrasounds, and friends who keep us grounded — one way or another.
Sophie: (clinking cups) Santé.
[They both laugh, sipping their coffee, knowing that whatever the baby’s gender, their friendship will always have room for both superstition and science.]
Science Vs Superstition 
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