There comes a time in a marriage when people will begin asking about your plans to start breeding. That time generally falls somewhere between saying “I do” & cutting the cake.
Once they’ve started asking, they won’t stop. “So, when are you going to start having kids?” Their eyes are blinking rapidly, focused on you, waiting for an answer.
What is the correct response to this one? Do I tell them when we’ll be having our next sexy fun time? Do I present a chart with my ovulation cycle? For fuck’s sake…I’m still in my wedding dress.
There’s only one thing to do – drink heavily throughout the duration of the reception.
Damn. Only one problem. It doesn’t stop after the reception.
“But your clock is ticking, you know.” Now, that’s tact. I’m 35. My clock isn’t a major concern for me right now. I should punch you in the spine.
Is that what marriage is? Get the piece of paper & start pushing out larvae as soon as possible? If that’s all it was, I never would have done it. I’m not in a hurry to have babies. Babies are messy, stinky, leaky & noisy.
Also, I know that childbirth is messy, stinky, leaky & noisy…with uncontrolled pooping. I can poop uncontrollably anytime. I don’t need to get pregnant for that.
A friend of mine recently started writing an angry blog. During a brief email about it, we both recalled spending our Saturday afternoons sitting in classes at FRCC in Fort Collins.
We recalled that we were both usually sad & hungover on those Saturday afternoons.
I wasn’t just sad & hungover – I was a fucking wreck. It wasn’t just on Saturday afternoons – it was every night, drinking alone, in the dark…chain smoking & just not giving a shit.
I didn’t want to get married, never even considered it & sure as hell didn’t want any kids bugging me. Besides, the thought of me being responsible for another living person was just fucking retarded.
Olivier was a needle in a haystack. He was also a sad & hungover wreck. He didn’t seem to mind my disdain for the humans or that I was a sad, angry, hungover wreck.
It was obvious that he was the only person I could live with that I wouldn’t want to kill. That’s love.
The only problem was, he lived in another country. Fast forward a few years, I’m in France, not Colorado, so we all know how that story ended. Happy ending, blah, blah, hooray.
No, still no babies. But, I’m not sad & hungover. Well, uh…not everyday, I mean.
Maybe that means that we’re happy. Sometimes I think that “happy” is just a word that people use when they can’t come up with anything to bitch about, or when they feel like they’ve got what they wanted. “Happy” is so vague.
I know that we don’t need anything. I know that Olivier didn’t know how to be a husband & I sure as hell didn’t know how to be a wife, & we’re still wrecks, but we’re enjoying our jackassery & have plans for more jackassery in the future.
I know that we don’t need to produce our jackass spawn for all of that, but I suppose if one just happens to show up, we won’t be able to just send it back.
But, still…I’m in no hurry. I mean, I know what an episiotomy is.
[tags]babies, marriage, France, Colorado, marriage, wedding, hungover, love, children, reception, breeding, rant[/tags]
Dude, once the kids are off to college, I’m going to party like a rock star! Of course, I will be more like an old, burnout, rekindle-the-past, best years are behind him kind of a rock star at that point.
Your point about not being selfish is right on La Framéricaine! That quote is solid frickin’ GOLD!
Counting down the days… Guess I’m still in the year timeframe though, huh? Oh well.
One day, long ago, I was waiting for a bus on the corner of 7th Avenue and Judah in San Francisco. I was thinking about the fact that I had no money to speak of, nor career, nor prospects for either on the horizon.
I was also thinking about how there were a lot of people around–especially male people–who had all three but were totally lacking in the ability to have any fun.
Thus, I reasoned that the best thing for me to do would be to find one of those people, teach him to have fun, and let him front the money for it. Shortly thereafter Le Framéricain glinted from the haystack.
He was 51 when he landed in the USA and I was 35. Not for one solitary nanosecond did I entertain the notion of birthin’ no babies, Miz Scarlett. I intended to selfishly, single-mindedly enjoy his time, energy, attention, and affection without benefit of children.
I eventually got a job, if not a career. And we have had 23 years of fun mixed with all kinds of really hairy life challenge shit. I have never missed the children that we did not have together.
I did have a woman once tell me that not having children was “selfish” but I just thought she was insane and that it was technically impossible to behave selfishly toward non-existent children.
I am totally in favor of children being had by people who are compelled to be “mothers” and “fathers” as opposed to people who want “babies.” Babies mutate rapidly into time-, energy-, and money-sucking children with hearts, minds, and wills of their own–not that there’s anything wrong with it.
Your post is hilarious and I hope that you tell the next person who inquires about when you intend to conceive a human being with your husband to take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut or whatever that translates into in French–“Qu’est-ce que ça peut te foutre?,” par exemple.