Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Over-the-Counter Tranquilizers

Everybody knows that babies are cute and cuddly. From what I understand, once you enter into the second half of your twenties, babies are also supposed to make your biological clock start talking, saying things to your brain like, "Hey! Don't you want one of those?!" My brain however, tends to say things like, "Hell, no! Turn and walk in the other direction as fast as you can!"

******For either of my mothers that may be reading this right now. Have no fear; deep down inside I like babies. Of course I want babies - well maybe small children would be better if I could get one like that. Just don't expect them ANY time soon.

Anyway, two weeks ago Brad and I were at the Cooper Hewitt Design Museum where two children were running through the exhibition, touching things that were not meant to be touched (if you can't read the signs that say "do not touch" then you are obviously to young to be there) and yelling to their parents. I found myself wondering angrily if there was not a height requirement for admission. Later, when a different child was writhing around on the floor of the museum design shop, where Brad and I were browsing, and screaming for his mother's attention (which she was denying him) I had to flat out resist the urge to strangle them both. First child, for the sake of quiet, and then mother for not only bringing her child, but even worse, for not supervising it in a place it doesn't belong.

Seriously, I don't think six year olds can really grasp the significance of textile advancement.

If you're wondering what might have spawned this tirade, it was this article in the Times, which I found to be quite humorous. Bet you can guess whose side I'm on. I'd like to be there when one of these mothers (who thinks they should be able to bring their ill-behaved children anywhere, and feel their parenting is being insulted by business owners trying to preserve the sanctity of quiet adult-only environments)
seeks refuge in a cappuccino and a book at a peaceful coffee shop when their kids are with a babysitter – but can't enjoy it because some brat is running circles around and bumping into their table, slowly spilling their overpriced, yet luxuriously satisfying coffee drink all over the table.

Of course it is likely that karma will return to bite me in the ass and I will one-day breed the most monstrous little heathens you could ever imagine. But, in the mean time, when my already unpleasant morning commute is made nearly intolerable by the sound of a wailing toddler who's parents are just giggling and cooing at it as if they can't figure what their little demon ate that morning to make him behave so unusually bad, I think I have every right to seek sanity in imagining myself turning around and sticking my fingers into all six of their inconsiderate eyeballs. (Ok, that was harsh)


I know a joke that will always make Brad laugh. It goes, "Hey, want to have a baby?" It is especially funny if I say this while scowling at three grown-ass adults all babbling, in some weird, high-pitched, made-up language that they seem to believe only babies can understand (uh, wrong!), to a small child who is not making eye contact or reacting to any of them.

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