I am a childless cliché. I like kids but only in very small – let’s call them tiny – doses. I love their smiling little faces but I loathe their sticky little mitts. I dig it when they make drawings for my fridge, I absolutely hate when they make crumbs on my couch. You simply can’t beat it when they say cute things, but equally you can’t beat them when their incessant whining becomes intolerable.
If I’m honest, I don’t know why people have them. I’m pretty sure my parents have reached the same conclusion. Few others seem to have. Most people I know now have children. My life is swarming with them, like ants. It’s as if my social circle became a sugar bowl, one came along and now you can’t get rid of the little buggers.
What’s more, apparently you can’t have favorites among kids of one family. You can, of course - we all do – but you just can’t say it. Oh, don’t the parents get upset and blame the fact you’re drunk. Yet parents are always demanding honesty from their kids, ‘Tell me the truth, did you wipe snot on the wall”. In that particular instance I wondered why even ask? It was obvious the culprit was the kid. The snot was only about two foot up the wall, the kid who was approximately two foot tall, had been sniffing all day and he had snot on his sticky little fingers.
Guilty! I shouted as I pointed at the villain. The little bugger did a tearful Oscar Pistorius and suddenly I’m the bad guy.
Fuckin’ kids.
It’s not that I’m just against the young, though, I’m really against old people too. Largely for the same reasons I dislike kids. But just like I’m rather fond of the elderly who can control their bowels, keep their teeth in their face, don’t smell like wet carpet, and abstain from repeating themselves every four minutes, I do love some children.
Among others, I have two nieces and a nephew, who are pretty cool. I have my adopted family (they took me on at aged 36) who has four kids including me and the others are bloody terrific. I am also extremely found of ‘The small guy’ who @CherylBernstein talks about on Twitter (although for all I know he could be fictional).
Anyway, all of this qualifies me, of course, to write a children’s book. So I’ve done that. Truly, I have. I’m now looking for a publisher. I will let you know how I get on. If I’m successful I’m going to hold the launch at a crèche, because after all I’ve done it for the kids. And if I’m totally honest, I’ll look at those kindly old grandparents with years of love in their hearts and melt just a little. I’ll gaze at those giggling, beautiful children using tired old bodies as climbing frames and smile (who wouldn’t?). And I’ll see that timeless symmetry between the very old and the very young and I’ll wonder just how many units I can sell to one to give to the other.
I’m eagerly awaiting a publisher’s call.
If I’m honest, I don’t know why people have them. I’m pretty sure my parents have reached the same conclusion. Few others seem to have. Most people I know now have children. My life is swarming with them, like ants. It’s as if my social circle became a sugar bowl, one came along and now you can’t get rid of the little buggers.
What’s more, apparently you can’t have favorites among kids of one family. You can, of course - we all do – but you just can’t say it. Oh, don’t the parents get upset and blame the fact you’re drunk. Yet parents are always demanding honesty from their kids, ‘Tell me the truth, did you wipe snot on the wall”. In that particular instance I wondered why even ask? It was obvious the culprit was the kid. The snot was only about two foot up the wall, the kid who was approximately two foot tall, had been sniffing all day and he had snot on his sticky little fingers.
Guilty! I shouted as I pointed at the villain. The little bugger did a tearful Oscar Pistorius and suddenly I’m the bad guy.
Fuckin’ kids.
It’s not that I’m just against the young, though, I’m really against old people too. Largely for the same reasons I dislike kids. But just like I’m rather fond of the elderly who can control their bowels, keep their teeth in their face, don’t smell like wet carpet, and abstain from repeating themselves every four minutes, I do love some children.
Among others, I have two nieces and a nephew, who are pretty cool. I have my adopted family (they took me on at aged 36) who has four kids including me and the others are bloody terrific. I am also extremely found of ‘The small guy’ who @CherylBernstein talks about on Twitter (although for all I know he could be fictional).
Anyway, all of this qualifies me, of course, to write a children’s book. So I’ve done that. Truly, I have. I’m now looking for a publisher. I will let you know how I get on. If I’m successful I’m going to hold the launch at a crèche, because after all I’ve done it for the kids. And if I’m totally honest, I’ll look at those kindly old grandparents with years of love in their hearts and melt just a little. I’ll gaze at those giggling, beautiful children using tired old bodies as climbing frames and smile (who wouldn’t?). And I’ll see that timeless symmetry between the very old and the very young and I’ll wonder just how many units I can sell to one to give to the other.
I’m eagerly awaiting a publisher’s call.
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