Okay anyone who has small children may hate me after read this blog posting. If you're easily offended and lack a sense of humor I would suggest finding another blog to read.
I don't want to give the impression that I hate children. I don't. In fact, many years ago I was a child myself. Okay, those of you laughing already can fuck yourselves with with an ice pick. Yes, I was once a small child; a cute one at that. But no, I do not hate children even though I'm not overly child-friendly. What irritates the hell out of me are children that are not supervised and allowed to run amok in places where they should be leash... I mean supervised.
Let me give you an example. Yesterday Jeremy and I were at the Mall of America. I'd estimate that eighty percent of the population in that mall were children, most of whom were probably under the age of thirteen. It sucks when you're trying to walk around in a civilized fashion and you have half-pints running in front of you, cutting you off, causing you to bump in other people or make sudden detours. I can't even remember how many times I rolled my eyes or gave a mental scowl at some heathen without his ADHD medication, or a parent there to properly beat his or her ass. And don't even get me started on the adult conversation we overheard some some preteens having on the train to the mall. I didn't know whether to laugh or puke, and since my body couldn't decide I just simply became gassy.
Oh, and even though she wasn't a child I want to give a special shout-out to Chow-Mini ... you know who you are gurrrl!
This evening, however, I saw something beautiful. I was in Target in downtown Minneapolis and I saw a small child, in a harness, attached to a leash! Immediately I wanted to congratulate him on the excellent parental skills I perceived him to possess. I wanted to buy him a beer as a reward.
Okay so ... my question is this: are child leashes harsh things? Everyone with a child might squawk like chickens at the thought of leashing their child. But let me ask all you parents who are so sure your child is the most angelic creature to bless this ball of rock: how many times have you seen a woman in your local Target or Cost-Co or Wal-Mart (if you live in the South or wear stretch pants because you can't find pants that fit you, in which case you probably are the woman in question) trying to shop and she has a toddler sitting in the shopping cart, an infant in one arm (while she pushes the cart and grabs items off the shelf with another) and an army of four or five bad ass children running around being shit-tastic asswipes, when they should be grabbing the items off the shelves for their tired ass mother (who was probably wishing she had a bit more pro-choice earlier in life).
Oh okay, so that was a bad example. Wah wah wah, I'm an asshole. This is why I will never be a parent. I have zero desire to be a parent; I don't have any paternal longings. In fact, a nice house with my boyfriend (in the future), a dog or two and some kitties ... that's all I need. I don't want to spend my Saturday afternoon scrubbing Crayola Magenta off my Cream-colored walls and yelling at some crying six-year-old who claims he is sorry when he really did it to piss me off because I wouldn't buy him a goddamn pony for his goddamn sixth birthday. By the way, I will never have a Cream-colored wall in my house (when I actually own one). Fuck that Midwestern-Granny-House Bullshit.
So what can you, the reader, take away from this blog other than the fact that Mike should not have children of his own (nieces and nephews are awesome, I can spoil the shit out of them and send them back to their parents to be bad ass children) or that he believes children in public should be seen and not heard? Perhaps you can infer that I am a concerned citizen ... concerned about the out-of-control irresponsible parents who let their kids act like assholes in public. Perhaps your conclusion is I, am indeed, the asshole.
Either way, there's an asshole running amok somewhere. And, at least for the next sixty or seventy years, I won't need a diaper change. So neener neener!
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