Saturday, August 28, 2010

Last night he flew to Baghdad in his magical armchair

Saturday, August 28, 2010
Picture me now, bouncing up and down on my tippy toes, doing that wavy hand to stop the tears of joy messing up my mascara bit. "Ooooh," I say at my most unintentionally camp. "Ooooh, I'm going to be an uncle!" Who'd have thought it? Well, fucking everyone truth be told. This brother of mine who knew how you know with a good melon was never getting married just for the tax breaks. This man has the trajectory of his life plotted out and until said trajectory is inevitably thrown off course by some kind of bizarre Hollywood cliché of fate or failing that, an alien invasion, the plans shall continue apace. And a logical part of this post marriage program was always going to be children. Congratulations to him and his lovely wife.

But it's not just them. Have you noticed? Everyone's having kids these days. People too young to be having them, people too old. The married and the unmarried. The rich and the poor. One of my oldest and bestest friends (second girl recently arrived, the tremendous sissy mickey) and the groin injecting junkie from my St James's ward. The mind-numbingly stupid and boring, and the soon to be so. And many of these people, even the smart ones, are doing it on fucking purpose. I mean, seriously. Do they have any idea how much children cost? Or how tedious and stressful they mostly are? Can they not see my rapidly greying hair, my spirit-crushed stance, my inability to stay awake past 11pm? Have they not heard of over-population, global warming, the re-introduction of college fees? What's the worse that could happen? Never experiencing the joy of an unrequested hug from your eleven year old? What you don't know can't hurt you. Dying alone with no one to listen to your interminable tales of former fake glories? Start a fucking podcast. A biologically driven feeling of emptiness and meaninglessness? Sure you get that anyway. How about the continuance of the human race? Don't make me fucking laugh. I mean, I really think we've done enough, don't you?

Case closed. Enough with the babies, people.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to go and criticise every little thing my daughter does as she kindly makes me lunch. Because there we have the only valid reason for procreation. Revenge.

4 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

seasonticket said...

I will print this out and put it over my headboard.

Gimme said...

I am entirely comfortable with that.

Conan Drumm said...

You big softy, really.

Gimme said...

It's certainly what I would have you believe.

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