Please Don’t Ask Me To Shower With You
Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m not talking about you and me getting wet and naked. Lord knows no one wants to see that happen. And it’s not that I’m worried about one of us dropping the soap, although Dave does have some hesitation and would prefer if I bought him soap on a rope for some reason. Nah. I’m talking about baby showers. Gah. Can’t stand the things. So, please stop inviting me to them.
People who know me well, like my sisters, know better than to include me in kid related things. I’m not on the email list for every video and photo that’s taken of their kids. I’m not invited to every birthday party and school play. I get periodic highlight reels, and when they are old enough for me to take them seriously or buy them beer then I can deal with them.
People never believe me when I say that I just really don’t believe in human children. But honestly, I don’t. They are expensive, dirty, and they make a lot of noises that make my brain hurt. When I go to Target and there’s some screaming child in the aisle, I do my best to block them out of my mind. If that doesn’t work, I usually give their parents the missile guided death ray stare. I’m not against other people having children, so long as they keep me out of it. It’s not that I hate children, although, I probably would hate yours. It’s just that I’ve got no interest in them. They do nothing for me. All infants look alike. Sorry, I know you think yours is adorable, but really I just can’t tell one from the other. And they are kinda creepy looking to boot.
Seems that getting knocked up is contagious at the moment among the people in my world. It’s like I’m living in The Village of the Damned. I’m betting it’s one of the signs of the apocalypse, and I’ve ordered some extra supplies for the End of Days kit I keep the garage. Dave and the dogs and I are going to wait out the Four Horsemen eating freeze dried ice cream and playing Scrabble. Each time someone tells me they or their spouse are pregnant I try to show a modicum of interest. I don’t want to be rude. Bully for them if this is what they wanted. Just don’t expect me to gush. Don’t expect me to offer to babysit. And please, please, please don’t invite me to your baby shower. Seriously have you ever been to one of these things?
Dave, who has never been to one, seemed more than a little perplexed that men would be included when we recently got a rash of invites to showers. I’m a decent spouse, but I’m not sheltering him from this based upon the antiquated obligations of my gender. So, I patiently explained to him…”Oh. Yes, my poor bastard of a husband, men go to these now. Or, to put it another way, if I have to go, you have to go. And you have to play all the games on our behalf.” When I explained to him that these games would include sniffing dirty diapers to figure out what was in them, he nearly spit up his coffee. Diapers, child or adult, are something that neither of us want anything to do with. There’s no paraphilic infantilism going on Chez Surly. You know, in case you were wondering. You always think the worst of me.
While I’m sure Dave could down enough beer to cope with having to drink it out of a baby bottle through a rubber nipple, I’m not sure that’s a visual I want to have in my head the next time we’re knocking one out on the couch. Nor do I fancy either one of us having to play Pin The Sperm On The Egg. You don’t really want to hand either one of us something sharp while being blindfolded at the best of times. Throw in a couple of baby bottle beers and there could be an incident. No one wants the cops and paramedics showing up to their baby shower. Unless maybe it was Steven Seagal in his sheriff’s uniform. That would be a keepsake photo for the baby’s album.
Now really, this isn’t my way of trying to get out of getting you a gift. I’m good for that. Really. I am. I actually give awesome baby gifts. If you get knocked up, and I like you, you’ll find out how awesome they are. Just don’t make me put Dave in a bib and feed him baby food in exchange. He suffers enough indignities at home.