After spending another weekend mini-vacation poolside, I realize there needs to be an explanation and a plea from child-free killjoys like me to you, the stroller pushers. I realize you’re doing more for the continuation of our species than I am–that is unless one of us (not I) is raising a murderous miscreant. Forgive me. I haven’t hardened to the annoying sounds and antics of little people. When you bring your child around me, my honest initial reaction is, “How cute!” The problem is that reaction lasts seconds, after which I am forced to find my headphones, loud music, dark glasses, and a tall cup of sedative. Your offspring has inconvenienced me, hence, I am perturbed.
You don’t expect me to discipline your children. In fact, you’d probably take offense if I tried. Much as I wouldn’t attempt to discipline someone else’s dog, I know better than to ask your child to stop yelling/running/screaming/spraying. It only responds to its master, at best. What am I to do?
“It’s a child. You can’t expect him to sit quietly and read.”
“Yes, I can. You don’t set my expectations.”
“Well, that’s silly. You’ve obviously never been around children.”
“Incorrect. I have been around plenty. Just like big people, they’re pests when they can’t amuse themselves.”
“You know, you were a child once.”
“Do you honestly think you didn’t get on anyone’s nerves.”
“No, I’m sure I did. The difference is, when I was a child and I misbehaved, I wasn’t ignored; I was punished. Thereby, I learned to sit quietly and stack alphabet blocks or have my little, hairless ass handed to me by my father, or uncle, or teacher, or whomever.”
“We don’t beat our child.”
“Obviously. Let me guess: You punish him by taking away his iPad.”
People with children should be forced to go places with other people similarly armed. They should also be forbidden from entering the space of those riding solo. Perhaps a PFA of sorts, requiring the trainer and squealing beast to stay 100 yards away.
“Who brings a child to a bar?”
“Hey, I’m not going to stop living my life just because I have a baby.”
“Nobody asked you to die (yet); I’m simply suggesting there are more appropriate places to take your infant.”
“Oh, so I’m limited to going to Chuckie Cheese because you dislike children?”
“How about a drive-thru?”
“My kid behaves.”
“Well, kudos to you for your methods of discipline. Let’s see how your magic skills are. Make yourselves disappear. Do it.”
“If you were here on a romantic date, and I sat at the next table, acting like a spastic lunatic, how would you react?”
“I’d probably move.”
“Right. I’m tired of moving. I was here first. Now, shall I spread Cheerios in front of me, stick them to my head, throw utensils on the floor, slap the table, scream, drool, and squirm in my excrement, or will you kindly remove yourself and this two-foot-tall creep from my vicinity so I can drink away my awful day in peace?”
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