I’m not opposed to kids. They come in handy for fetching things, better than a cat anyway, but seriously, general public, I don’t care about your offspring. Broadly speaking, of course, I really don’t. Even if you have the cutest kid in the whole wide world who rides a unicycle on a high-wire, blindfolded while reciting the Gettysburg Address backwards – alright, I might actually want to see that – your kid is not special or a miracle. Your little miracle is just like millions of other little miracles out there; made up from a sperm and an egg. People make them all the time, sometimes, without even trying. Before we had fire and the wheel, when we weren’t walking upright yet and still had unibrows, before we even made up the word for them, people were making babies. Something that commonplace which you can make unintentionally cannot possibly be classified as a miracle. Oh, look, I farted! It’s a miracle!
I have no intention of having any progeny myself. The older I get, the more bitter I become about having to agree that little humans disguised as bald, fat and wrinkled fleshblobs are just adorable. Unless you are their parent, newborn infants are not even the least bit cute. Animal babies, yes. Human babies, no. Maybe it’s the lack of fur.
Then there’s having to sit through yet another breeder story; little Johnny’s first poop and how little Susie threw up on the carpet. Isn’t that hysterical?!? No, it’s not. Really, not at all. It’s not funny and it’s not entertaining. Not to mention the fact that people with children seem to take time off of work whenever they damn well feel like it and don’t even get me started on the tax credit.
Do not ever utter the words, “You won’t understand until you have kids of your own” to a non-breeder either, specifically me, unless you want a jab in the eye with a ballpoint pen. First of all, the “until” in that sentence is presumptive. You are implying that I simply must pop out a pup, as if it’s predestined that every human must procreate. And secondly, you’re telling me that I don’t, that I couldn’t possibly understand something, which I don’t take kindly to in the least, even if it’s true.
I once had a particularly annoying boss who used to say that to me all the time. And since she was my boss, I couldn’t gouge her eyes out with my pen. She would interrupt my work every day with her offspring stories. At one point, I decided to counter her funny kid stories with funny cat stories to see if she’d catch on, since she never once acknowledged the look of pain and death (hers) on my face. It was a good plan. Unfortunately, I ran out of cat stories long before she ran out of kid stories since my cat is generally lazy and won’t even ride a unicycle. The bosslady never once noticed my little plan, but just kept on blindly telling me hilarious kid stories that I couldn’t possibly understand.
That being said, once you decide to have one or more, even accidentally, it is your responsibility to look after them. Make sure they get fed, clothed and don’t walk around with shit in their pants. Don’t let them run around in public like drunken monkeys tugging at random strangers while screaming their heads off as too many parents do. Give them an education, make them do their homework, listen to them, answer their questions, spend time with them, let their imaginations run wild. Shield them from bad people and bad things. Teach them manners and responsibility. If you have any skills, show them how to do things. Let them make up their own minds, yet guide them in the right direction. Teach them the value of education, money, hard work and keeping your word. Give them rules and stick to them. Turn them into responsible members of society, because the world does not need more spoiled brats, gangsters, players, bimbos and whores.
Above all, I don’t want to pay for your kid. I’m not talking about education. I went to public school, therefore, I figure I’m paying for my own education in arrears. Plus, education is the one thing that might turn your kids into responsible adults, even if you fail. I’m talking about paying for welfare, jail, juvenile courts, food stamps and whatever other social services you will take and use if you’re not a responsible parent. If you cannot afford to feed yourself, you cannot afford to have a kid. Take care of your children, because it’s the right thing to do and because I don’t want to.
This little tirade also applies to pet owners. Specifically, crazy pet people. You know the type; the ones who buy little sweaters for animals that already have built-in fur, carry their babies around in little handbags even though they have perfectly functional legs, talk baby talk to them in public and always have pictures of their children in their wallet should the actual pet not be readily at hand. I have even less interest in hearing about your cat/dog/rabbit/bird/whatever than I do hearing about little Johnny or Susie. At least the human babies might grow up to do something interesting.
Because there are no complaints without alternatives, here’s a little test you can perform to find out if you should share your funny anecdote or not. If you have a story you’re just itchin’ to tell, find someone without kids/pets, preferably someone who is not your subordinate, with a sense of humor who won’t lie to you and has a bad poker face. Tell them your story and if they don’t look bored to tears or look like they’re going to kill you or leap out of the nearest high contraption, go ahead and tell your story to others, sparingly, but pay attention to their reactions, too, please. If your audience looks uninterested or homicidal, cease and desist. Go find someone with kids and tell them instead, but remember, if you do, you will have to listen to their funny stories in return.
DISCLAIMER: I am not referring to, calling out or talking about anyone I personally know in this blog (except for the former bosslady). It’s really just a generalized rant.