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SEE? BABIES WILL FUCK WITH YOUR SHIT AND LAUGH ABOUT IT.

Ok, Mesdames et Monsieurs.

I’m about to broach a subject which is highly controversial and for which I will be likely ostracized forever.

BABIES.

This is strictly a rant and rave and I welcome a poll debating how soon I shall be either kicked off or commended by THE ENTIRE WORLD.

Here’s my drama. I live in a very nice part of London. it can be very “mommydaddy” at times, but it’s pretty, and green, and safe, and zone 2, and close to city, and whatever.

I have one problem. WOMEN BAKING BABY-BUNS IN THEIR OVENS. AND THE SOCIETAL RULES THEY DICTATE.

I KNOW that most people have children and it’s simply my duty just to sigh and secretly hatehatehate, and that I will breed a significant hatehatehate for myself by describing my hatehatehate, so I apologize in advance (hollow lies, obviously) as I give you the following questions to be answered.


1. SIDEWALK USEAGE OF BABY-CARRIER-POD.

Ok. I understand that young Juniper Taylor-Thomas can’t be ambling all over the road and whatnot, and I even get it that Mommy #1 found friend in Mommy #2 and that they’re walking together loudly discussing breastfeeding (like really? I so dont need to hear about it. barf factor of about a million percent). HOWEVER. You have giant SUVs going 2×2 down the road. *I* have to move for this?? If I had a huge shopping cart full of champagne and handbags (my preferred angels to dote on), *I* would be expected to move for anyone else, so why is it I’m shimmied into the gutter or pressed up against a storefront with scorching dirty looks because i haven’t started lauding your pathway with rose petals?

2. LOUD CHILDREN IN RESTAURANTS, AND GENERALLY EVERYWHERE

I get it that you tune them out. I would too, if I were socially capable of ramming whatever substance in front of me directly into my ear-holes, but unfortunately, corkscrews and stiletto heels get messy. But really though?? I came into the cafe to chill as well, and your child screaming and fussing is RUINING LIFE (for everyone). I want to mimic your child, to its face, and then say “YEAH, ANNOYING, ISN’T IT?” Ps. it’s NOT at all cute that your child has the table manners of a barn-dwelling animal. Nor is it charming that they have vomitlike substances all over their tiny person while facing me. *I* didn’t have your kid, so why am I watching it gross me out? get a babysitter/nanny/eat at home until your child is either old or capable enough to behave properly.

(I say this having been brought up reading etiquette books aimed at children. These included place settings and general rules of politeness. So yeah, they’re out there. You spend X amount of $ sending your child to private schools but you allow them to behave like heathens who run the roost until that time? That money could be put to better use on therapy and restraints.)

3. MY ELEVATOR TIME. NOT “COO-AT-YOUR-BABY-TIME”.

Why is it that new parents (who’ve obviously packed stroller, baby, playpen, diaper bag, 50 million toys et cetera into very tiny elevator, squashing me into a tiny corner in which I’m just silently begging not to have frottage committed against myself by the pervy man with halitosis who’s managed to shift his body behind mine upon glimpsing the reversing action of this Mack Truck stroller into the once-modern-and-sleek-compartment) expect you to fawn over their offspring when they are inconveniencing you? I get the impression I’m supposed to have a moment of intense reflection on how empty my life is without these accoutrements of definitive completion of biological and spiritual selfless duty. Parents = gaze at baby, then gaze at me, beaming, expecting similar reaction. Like, sorry, but it’s not like BILLIONS OF PEOPLE HAVE BEEN DOING THIS SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME. YOUR BABY IS NOT INTERESTING TO ME UNLESS IT HAS MAGIC POWERS OR CAN SOLVE EQUATIONS OF A HAWKINGESQUE VARIETY. Put on your “I have not solved world hunger” hat and sit in the corner. Oh, and while you’re there, think about what you’ve done and how it is RUINING THE PLANET!

4. LET’S ALL DISCUSS GROSS STUFF!

Nipple chafing, nappies, “spit-up”, cravings, “cool playpens” and scheduling feedings are a double whammy of NE PAS for me. A) Gross factor — could be even appropriately described as GROSS FACTORY: where gross COMES FROM, and B) So not even considering your audience. Do I look like I’m trying not to vom? yeah. That’s cause I AM. Funny how it’s not sweet and endearing if *I* do it on your “push present” Coach purse.

5. CONVERSATION-KILLERS

So what if I’m annoyed that they take all the attention away from me? It doesn’t make me JEALOUS OF BABIES, it makes me question their contribution to society. Really, baby? You can barf on yourself? That’s great. I dropped out of University-level evolutionary biology to become a pop star. No, no, by all means. YOU take the floor. Oh yeah, that’s right, I mean WITH YOUR FACE, SUCKER.

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2 thoughts on “BABIES Rhymes With SCABIES And RABIES. Do The Math.

  1. Pingback: Like A Virgin (Birth). « the curious musings of debutante icons

  2. Pingback: The Only Time I Get Sentimental | the curious musings of debutante icons

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