Birth Control
Ithink my biological clock is broken. When I was younger, all I wanted was a teeny tiny version of me to dress up, drive to ballet practice and parade around town like a prized show dog. Now, I’m fairly certain that taking a nice, big poop is probably far more satisfying than pushing an eight-pound, screaming money grubber out of my vagina. Who do I blame this change of heart on? The only people I can blame it on – my friends!
My boyfriend has a six-year-old son and one of my best friends has a five-year-old boy. When they were first born all I wanted to do was set up precious little play dates and cuddle with them until their heads exploded. However, I soon realized that while I get to go home after I’m done playing; my friends have to stay with those kids. When their sons start to freak out and cry, they can't be like me and yell "SHUT UP!" and then walk away. They have to pretend to care. There have been many occasions where they can't go get drunk with me because they have their sons that night. To me, that is the most screwed up part of having kids because parents probably need to get drunk more than anyone.
I've learned that one of the worst parts about having a kid is dealing with other kids. Those home school parents may be breeding window lickers, but at least they’re smart enough to know that dealing with other psycho kids really blows. Your child is perfect – other children are crazy ass motherfuckers. For example, my friends and I brought the kids to this insane "Easter Bunny Breakfast" that was held in the basement of a local Elks Club. I had to pay $4 to sit in a room full of screaming kids while trying to eat the nasty ghetto breakfast they provided – and by ghetto, I mean that while the lady was putting bacon on my plate with one hand, she was eating bacon with her other hand. Anyway, I think every child in my city was there and they all wanted to see the scary costumed Easter Bunny. I hated one kid more than the others because he colored this horrible picture of an Easter egg and ran up to the Bunny yelling, "Hey! Look Easter Bunny! Look at my picture! I made this! I made this! It's an Easter egg! I made this!" What? Do you want a fucking medal? Luckily, the Easter Bunny was just as annoyed as I was and he set the kid on fire with a blowtorch. Well, he did in my head at least. There was also this asshole bully munchkin there. He was tiny and fat and kept hitting my poor little children. He would move his arms back and forth hitting their fronts and then backs over and over while yelling "HOW YA DOIN'? HOW YA DOIN'?" Clearly this child is well on his way to becoming a used car salesman. Fuck him. I think my favorite part about the whole breakfast was the fact that I had awful gas that day. I just sat at the table and made the room smell like a rotting corpse all morning. It was fantastic and I'm pretty sure the fumes caused permanent brain damage to more than a few children.
Another reason I refuse to have kids is because they don't listen to me. I am their "CRAAAZY AUNTIE!" and the second I try to lay down the law with them, they just laugh in my face. I guess it is mostly my fault because I can’t stand the idea of anyone, never mind just children, hating me. I am afraid that if I yell at the kids they will grow up to hate me and put Exlax in my coffee or something. I am good for making up stupid songs and telling poop jokes – that's about it. My friend's son actually laughs in my face when I try to lay down the law. Have you ever wanted to punch a five year old? I have!
The final reason I'm never having children is because of one single picture – the picture of my friend giving birth. Holy. Shit. She couldn’t shave her bush because she was so pregnant and couldn’t reach down there, so the amount of pubic hair in that picture is enough to feed a small village for a lifetime. Also, I was not aware that a vagina could expand SO MUCH. When your body is trying to birth out a foreign object, your vag gets vaginormous. There is no freaking way shit down there will go back to normal after a trauma like that.
Kids can be fun sometimes. I like to teach them horrible phrases and then send them back to tell their parents what they’ve learned. I like to make fun of them when they’re already upset so they get super upset and scream hilarious things in my face. Kids are also a good excuse to play with toys and eat cookies. Unfortunately, the bad certainly outweighs the good—and that is why my uterus is permanently closed for business. I am perfectly content with my "Crazy Auntie" status and sleep well knowing that when the kids flip out, I'll just go home and leave my friends to hanging themselves.
