Friday, March 05, 2004
Child's Play
I’m beginning to think I need to buy me one of them black market babies. Last night I babysat for one of my coworkers, and by the end of the night I probably would have agreed to impregnate the crazy woman who screams obscenities under my el stop, if she’d been willing. The thing is, kids are just flat-out nicer people and better conversationalists than 95% of adults. So the question is, what happens? And why don’t they sell children at Target? It would be much easier that way.
Of course, my parenting skills may still leave something to desire. Although I feelingly read from the Disney storybook (despite my feelings about corporate usurpation of our folk heritage), I was branded as “silly” and second-guessed at Sleeping Beauty’s every boring turn. I forgot the words to “Bah Bah Black Sheep” and enumerated the destinations of only two bags of wool, sending one “to the farmer who lives in the dell” and one, because it rhymed, to “the little girl who fell down the well.” And I could not withhold my observation that the Elmo video was a little weak on plot.
So I guess kids will have to wait until I can be a little less self-involved, which may well be never. But I suppose it’s better to not have them than to leave them in the car while daddy goes to sell his plasma for beer money.
I’m beginning to think I need to buy me one of them black market babies. Last night I babysat for one of my coworkers, and by the end of the night I probably would have agreed to impregnate the crazy woman who screams obscenities under my el stop, if she’d been willing. The thing is, kids are just flat-out nicer people and better conversationalists than 95% of adults. So the question is, what happens? And why don’t they sell children at Target? It would be much easier that way.
Of course, my parenting skills may still leave something to desire. Although I feelingly read from the Disney storybook (despite my feelings about corporate usurpation of our folk heritage), I was branded as “silly” and second-guessed at Sleeping Beauty’s every boring turn. I forgot the words to “Bah Bah Black Sheep” and enumerated the destinations of only two bags of wool, sending one “to the farmer who lives in the dell” and one, because it rhymed, to “the little girl who fell down the well.” And I could not withhold my observation that the Elmo video was a little weak on plot.
So I guess kids will have to wait until I can be a little less self-involved, which may well be never. But I suppose it’s better to not have them than to leave them in the car while daddy goes to sell his plasma for beer money.
