So here’s the thing, I don’t want kids. I just don’t okay? But let’s face it, this has not stopped me from writing and saving an ongoing list of names that I would use if I were to have kids including but not limited to Casey, Isabelle, Eleanor, Sophie, Spencer, and Marlow…all meant to be girl’s names by the way. It makes it so much worse that I have saved this list to my laptop, so every time I open up another word document…there it is…mocking me. Sometimes it even talks to me like…
Savannah I thought you weren’t having kids.
Then I’m all like, Shut the fuck up, you sound like my mom. The thing is, I have some really big concerns when it comes to children…or uh…parenting.
1) I find beating your children to be an acceptable form of punishment. I get the whole “you catch more bees with honey” saying, but maybe you don’t. Maybe you should just use a fucking fly swatter okay?
2) I have this extreme discomfort with people touching my things. I’ve sort of had to let go of this a little bit because my roommate and I have no doors in our apartment and often share things like my stereo…but rest assured, I have not let go completely. Imagining a child with chocolate ice cream all over their small hands and face touching my favorite black purse with the gold accents….not okay. I will fucking beat that child to death (please refer back to #1).
3) Babies…kids…they are so fucking immature. It’s like GROW UP ALREADY. I get frustrated when they can’t communicate with me like an adult. Every time I meet a kid it becomes very awkward, very fast. I always extend my hand for it to be shaken, only to realize that kids do not shake hands. Stirred not shaken. Then I’m like, Well how the fuck do you introduce yourself? Talking in a really high pitched voice (the way you do with dogs) seems to be the way, because every time I do this, all the adults in the room nod their head like I’m on the right path. I’m not. I’m always talking to friends and family thinking Ugh, stop being such a child. Then I stop and think…oh god…what if you really were a child. Eek! Then I’m like…I should get the fly swatter.
4) They are such a huge responsibility. Dude, I cannot even keep track of the key to our apartment. I’m not even sure if I blogged about this (I’m also forgetful which could become a problem), but I lost the key to our apartment and had to break in. Christ, if I can break in to our apartment I’m pretty sure anyone can. Well, I had another key made, then almost lost it again. Luckily, I left it on the library desk with my roommate Connor who now smugly says, “Don’t lose that.” every time I pick up the key before an afternoon jog. Son of a fucking bitch. But imagine if that key were a child…a small, jagged edged child. I would lose it and you can’t make a copy of that…unless you have twins.
5) They creep me out. Every fucking horror movie preview (I say preview, because afterwards I’m already too terrified to actually see the movie), there is a small, pale child singing some lullaby that creeps me the fuck out! The itsy bitsy spider is ruined…it’s just fucking ruined! Thank you for providing me with two phobias, arachnophobia and havingchildrenophobia.
I’m going to stop here, but honestly it’s not for lack of further reasoning. I could go on all day and will upon your request, but I’d prefer not to think about children any more than I already have. But it is confusing…that I’ve made this list of names. Well, not all that confusing. I have to fess up…hormones, evolution, the whole bit is all true. Every time I am in love or gosh even having sex with a guy (which, let’s face it, means I’m in fucking love) I want to have their babies. I’m like oh my gosh I want to make mini you’s with washboard abs, blue eyes, and a niche for making me smile…can we?! Can we?! It’s fucking awful. Although I have selected all girl’s names,it’s weird, I have never imagined or desired making mini me’s. Like…Oh great let’s make a short brunette with a tendency for weight to accumulate in the gut region and a really melancholy way of singing Mary Had A Little Lamb. She will have so much potential then stay in her college town…FOREVER.
So, you get the idea. Despite my growing list of names, I’m not having kids…or at least not any time soon. Last weekend, my mom was telling me to save the tablecloths in case someone else in the family got married (FYI: I am the last of the kids not settled down). That was the moment I died of laughter…literally I died. There was a funeral, a wake, and everything….which was ideal because we saved the tablecloths. I’m sure my friends and family were confused in their mourning by the use of teal at the ceremony, because I have no real affinity for that color. Savannah…may she rest in peace…as we eat these teal cookies…on their teal plate…on a teal tablecloth.
A part of me is genuinely worried that I will become what everyone refers to as a “cat lady.” These actually exist. I work at a library…these actually exist. I’ve become more concerned about this recently because I find myself meowing randomly…sometimes to the melody of an ACDC song…and also have a new found desire to buy an all black cat and name it Michael Jordan. Don’t ask me why.
At the end of the day, I am a dog-lover at heart. I imagine someday I will be taking my golden retriever on a walk when suddenly it will break free from its leash to meet a black labrador, who has simultaneously broken free from its leash, and just so happens to be accompanied by a fine-looking gentleman my age. Uh, what are the chances?
Slim to none…those are the chances.