Another Reason to Hate Me
I think there's something everyone should know about me. Know this and accept it because it's not going anywhere any time soon. I don't like kids. I'm not ashamed of this. They can't talk for the most part, and the ones who do only complain, cry or say incredibly rude things to each other or those around them. Not only that, but they must be paid attention at nearly every moment because they're either hungry, bored, stupid or they've shat their pants again.
Children love me. They're like dogs, they smell fear. It's like I'm the most imaginative person they've ever met in their lives and they just can't get enough of me. Even babies stare at me. (Or maybe they're shitting, but they seem to be staring.) My cousin has like 35 kids or something and a couple of years ago at Christmas at her dad's house, two of them were playing with some newly acquired toy that reinforced gender/sexual/socioeconomic stereotypes. I don't know if it's because I look like one of them, because my face is naturally closer to theirs and therefore more inviting, but somehow I got roped into playing along. The boy was playing with Legos, and because he literally had the brain power of a three year old, I was forced to build each and every model on the instruction sheet (this is if you're not creative to come up with the following:) as well as a robot who would "fly and throw arrows and eat birds." What a freaking weirdo. The girl was worse. Not only did she have a fake makeup set (shoot me) but I was her first and only customer at Mykayla's Little Shop of Horrors. For like 19 hours straight. I think most of my hair was left behind in that tiny pink plastic brush of hers. After I was sufficiently hooched out and and designed and constructed a bird-eating robot, they climbed all over me until my scoliosis eventually turned the other way. Couldn't we have read a book? "Our Bodies Ourselves" maybe?
I'm reminded of all this because I just returned from the most recent Disney movie. (What was I thinking? It's 7:30 on a weekend- of course there will be little people crawling all over the seats!) For the most part, the kids were sitting quietly shitting in their pants or begging for attention, absorbing all sorts of social messages about their life via computer animation, but I couldn't help but be annoyed with all the free loot they were getting. I'm talking popcorn, candy, and CAFFEINE. I don't mean to sound crotchety, but isn't it getting close to bed time?
I suppose one day I will want to have a couple of them around. Something about a clock ticking and the greatest adventure of my life, etc. etc. I don't anticipate this happening soon. I like my freedom, I dislike shit, and I am not having one of those episiotomies.
[Editor's note: The Spanish word of the day just so happens to be malcriado, meaning poorly raised, spoiled. Coincidence? I think not!]
Children love me. They're like dogs, they smell fear. It's like I'm the most imaginative person they've ever met in their lives and they just can't get enough of me. Even babies stare at me. (Or maybe they're shitting, but they seem to be staring.) My cousin has like 35 kids or something and a couple of years ago at Christmas at her dad's house, two of them were playing with some newly acquired toy that reinforced gender/sexual/socioeconomic stereotypes. I don't know if it's because I look like one of them, because my face is naturally closer to theirs and therefore more inviting, but somehow I got roped into playing along. The boy was playing with Legos, and because he literally had the brain power of a three year old, I was forced to build each and every model on the instruction sheet (this is if you're not creative to come up with the following:) as well as a robot who would "fly and throw arrows and eat birds." What a freaking weirdo. The girl was worse. Not only did she have a fake makeup set (shoot me) but I was her first and only customer at Mykayla's Little Shop of Horrors. For like 19 hours straight. I think most of my hair was left behind in that tiny pink plastic brush of hers. After I was sufficiently hooched out and and designed and constructed a bird-eating robot, they climbed all over me until my scoliosis eventually turned the other way. Couldn't we have read a book? "Our Bodies Ourselves" maybe?
I'm reminded of all this because I just returned from the most recent Disney movie. (What was I thinking? It's 7:30 on a weekend- of course there will be little people crawling all over the seats!) For the most part, the kids were sitting quietly shitting in their pants or begging for attention, absorbing all sorts of social messages about their life via computer animation, but I couldn't help but be annoyed with all the free loot they were getting. I'm talking popcorn, candy, and CAFFEINE. I don't mean to sound crotchety, but isn't it getting close to bed time?
I suppose one day I will want to have a couple of them around. Something about a clock ticking and the greatest adventure of my life, etc. etc. I don't anticipate this happening soon. I like my freedom, I dislike shit, and I am not having one of those episiotomies.
[Editor's note: The Spanish word of the day just so happens to be malcriado, meaning poorly raised, spoiled. Coincidence? I think not!]
posted by Megan at
9:38 PM
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