Take Me Somewhere Else
It is no secret that I don’t like kids. I make it plainly clear upon first meeting anybody with children, “I don’t like kids so keep yours away from me.” That wasn’t meant to be funny, it’s my actual phrase. Just because your children are the center of your universe DOES NOT make them the center of my universe. I am doing happy and fine without them in my world.
Tim and I went to a flea market today, and I spent the hour dodging children and/or strollers. Adam (that was his name because his mother called him that from afar…”Adam, stand back. Adam, get back here.”) he was in my way a few times while I was junk shopping. Adam just stood in the middle of the aisle and I was expected to go around him a few times. I understand he was maybe 6 years old and didn’t know he had to let others pass, so I reminded him. “Adam…I’m trying to get through.” He stared at me for a split second wondering how I knew his name. I wanted to tell him because his name was called out a few times by the lazy ass woman sitting over at the food court who refused to reign in her live stock. But I didn’t, I just stepped over him instead.
I don’t want to hear children cry, even though I know they have to do it. It’s in the manual somewhere that children will eventually cry at some point. I don’t find that fun, so I want no part of it. Most times I know they’re saying something intellectual in their own heads, but when it comes out of their mouths it’s just random words with letters missing. I don’t understand what they’re saying. And if we can’t have a conversation, then I don’t plan on wasting what little time I have left trying to decipher their meaning. Actually, the only time I find that I have fun with children is when I’m destroying stuff with them. Like drawing on the sidewalk with chalk, or tearing up a kitchen faucet with them. I let them play with the tools and yack away while I’m fixing things. I find that they’re good for throwing things in the garbage for me. It saves me the trip.
Somehow I’ve gotten Styx (my dog) not to like children either. I didn’t teach her this trick, she just barks at the short things like they’re trying to break into my house. I suppose maybe Styx is used to Tim and my certain height and when someone really short comes along it throws her off. I’m not sure. But she doesn’t like children just as much as I don’t. Her bonus is that she gets to bark at them in their face until they turn away. I can’t bark at children like she does. I suppose I could…but it’s bad enough I’m known as the grumpy guy. I don’t need “crazy” tacked onto my title. Even though I would find it very beneficial.
So now we’re at Halloween, and I know they’ll be knocking on the door. They’ll be all excited about what they’re wearing and the candy they’ll be getting. I keep telling Tim that it would be easier to just put the bowl of candy outside and keep checking every 20 minutes or so to see if the bowl needs a refill. I could care less who they’re wearing. This is why I’m upstairs typing out this blog and Tim is downstairs waiting at the door to serve the little minions their sugary rewards for dressing up. “Oh…you’re so adorable!” are not words that have ever been sewn together in my vocabulary. In my lifestyle, those words are sort of frowned upon anyway, so I just make it a habit to never say them to children. Tim is the opposite of me in this regard. He likes children. So I let him be my spokesman for the young. He gets to pawn all over them while I keep my distance and act like he’s talking for me too. I love Halloween for the art and the sweet sales on candy, but between 6pm and 9pm-ish…I get Halloween anxiety. I figure it should be over by 9pm. Any later than that I feel like I should be passing out jello shots.