of pram Nazis and vicious parents

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
This entry will disturb most parents – please do not read further if you have or are planning to have children.
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

I’ve spoken of this before. Parents expect society to keep a look out for their offspring.

It’s true everywhere you go!

Today, I’m down at the local Border’s Store … and as is my want on a quiet Sunday afternoon, I like to grab a few mags and books that interest me, climb up to the third floor, sit on the couch and drink a hot chai as I peruse their contents.

Well, wouldn’t you know it? It seems the call went out for every breeding female within a 20-mile radius to load up their kids into the prams, and converge onto the tiny bookshop cafe.

Every walkway, every space between chairs, tables, couches, along the checkout and across the bookstore was strewn with prams like some form of new-age battlefield tanks converging onto the last known whereabouts of Osama bin laden.

The attitude that accompanies the mothers of our future is phenomenal as well!

They’ll slam their pram into your ankles and shins and then look at you with disdain as they request your absence from their path with a tone that suggests that you should have seen them coming, and made the effort to move out of their way since they do have the responsibility to carry the young and you’re obviously naught but a selfish man for not carrying a similar tiny-screaming-puking-shit-machine in a hammock on your back!

Any-hows, I managed to avoid severe bruising of shins or breakages of ankles as I maneuvered my way to what seemed like a set of vacant ottomans to one corner. Well, there were a set of books in one corner (on the floor), no-one around them, no-one on them, nothing that laid claim to them … so? Vacant.

I begin to clear the books off the floor, and re-arrange the ottomans to allow my partner and I to sit and try to enjoy our Sunday afternoon, regardless of the aforementioned screaming-puking-shitting-complaining-whining-“I want! I want! I want!”-foot stamping-machines we were surrounded by.

It’s at this time, one of those lovely breeding creatures comes running up to us and declaring that we’ve stolen her seats, and how dare we throw her kids out or some nonsensical bullshit.

I explain, there were no markers, no-one was here, etc … she says that her kids went running off and she was ordering coffee and we shouldn’t have taken the seats.

What-the-almighty-fuck?

When did I become the guardian of your spoilt little brats?

Why the fuck should my life be messed about because you can’t learn to look after the spoilt fruit of your rotten loins?

Why should I have to step gingerly around hormone volatile women who because they decided to spread their legs and be inseminated by the seed that has sprouted into a demonic child that has now caused them to be completely stressed out and is the cause for the ruination of their lives?

You want to know why I don’t care? Why it’s not my problem? Why you should drop the attitude? Let me tell you, it’s because:

  • I don’t remember signing a petition asking you to give birth
  • I didn’t force you to not use contraceptives
  • I didn’t force you to have a child when you weren’t ready
  • I didn’t impregnate you
  • I didn’t stop you from having an abortion
  • I didn’t force you to give up your career
  • I didn’t ask you to have more kids
  • I didn’t force your partner to work more hours to support the extra mouths
  • I didn’t kick your no good partner out of the house
  • THEY ARE NOT MY KIDS NOR MY RESPONSIBILITY!

There. Simple.

You had the kids. You learn to deal with them. You take responsibility for them.

I decided not to have kids. That was a conscious choice based on all the factors of what they entail. Including the fact that they would be my responsibility and not society’s at large.

If you disagree, give me your name and number, and within 24 hours, I can have a squad of four children all under the age of 6 at your doorstep. My sister would love for you to look after them for the next 4-10 years.

Thank god for Xanax …

TTFN

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