My Future Girlfriend
It is not much of a secret that small children make me cringe. The sound of kids cut through me like a knife and there is nothing that makes my blood run cold quicker than a pack of these rabid beasts descending on me in a mess of sticky limbs as they screech �dog pile on Uncle Fartin!�
Despite my best efforts to avoid confrontations with kids all together a few of my friends have wee ones and there are times when interaction is forced upon me. Most children fear me or take a standoffish approach where they gaze at me from long distances, usually hiding behind a parent or loved one. I of course do nothing to put them at ease or encourage them to come closer than arms reach for my and their own safety. My normal approach to the world doesn�t involve me worrying about stepping on or crashing into small humans whose height places them out of my peripheral vision. Maybe if I had some midget or dwarf friends this might not be as big of an issue. Alas, many a nose has been bloodied and many a child sent crying back to mommy because little people simply don�t move as quickly as household pets, which unlike the kiddies, are quite adapt at avoiding my size 11 shoes.
Bring your child to work day was the bane of my corporate existence, until it was finally banned along with most other �fun type� activities once the German�s bought us. But prior to this days celebratory decommissioning, I was constantly tricked by one of my managers so that I was forced to be at work when everyone brought their kids, ages 5-17 to work. The last year of this event, one of my craftier co-workers took great pride and amusement in making me part of the building wide scavenger hunt. At this particular instant in my life, I just so happened to have dark purple hair crowing the top of me noggin. The clue read something very uncreative like, �find the man with the purple hair�. The scavenger hunt was set to last approximately one hour, but was extended 25 extra minutes by the coordinator based on two main reasons:
1) at the end of the full hour, every one of the two dozen children had found and obtained a signature from every person on their scavenger list save one; the one being me. 2) Once the children did find me, my spiked purple hair, crude clothing, multiple earrings and perpetual scowl kept all of them at bay for a full 15 minutes after they all managed to locate me. If it were not for the heroics of my co-workers then thirteen year old son then the coordinator might have died of laughter. As she watched and listened to the kids created stories about how my hair got purple, if I was some sort of evil demon conjured forth to fight the Power Rangers and various other tall tales that only the mind of a small child could possibly summon forth. Eventually the teenage youth, gathered the gaggle behind him and as a single solitary unit they advanced upon me and stood patiently waiting for a good number of moments directly behind my desk for their opportunity to pounce.
The sensation started at the base of my spine and crawled steadily upwards. The feelings of uneasy caused me to start perspiring as I scribbled furiously, locked on to the task at hand, I never even heard the denizens approach. Eventually I heard what sounded suspiciously like a small child swallowing his own phlegm and my eyes widened in horror. I had sudden images flash before me where I felt like a caged animal on display for the masses to tease and torment. Drawing a ragged breath, I whirled around in my chair and came face to face with mine enemy.
There were several squeals, in drawn breaths of shock, wide eyed stairs of amazement and even a couple of vapor trails vanishing around corners as some of the more timid in attendance lost their nerves and ran away shrieking in fear. To give the teenaged kid credit, he didn�t waiver and calmly showed me the scavenger hunt sheet, asking for my signature as he did so. This was some sort of unspoken command to the rest of the gaggle and the cavalcade of small bodies swept over me like a tsunami. I had kids in my lap, under and on top of my desk; they all wanted to touch my hair and asked me a barrage of questions that I answered as inaccurately and sarcastically as possible�
�what happened to your hair that made it that color?� � I got hit on the head real hard and I bleed purple.
�How come you have so many earrings?� � cuz if I get lost in the woods, the rescue people can find me using a metal detector.
�what�s a metal detector?� - a metal detector is a device that your parents use to find hidden treasure in your backyards and sometimes they use it to find lost boys with purple hair.
�is there really treasure in my backyard?� � yes, and I recommend as soon as you get home that you start digging so you find all the loot before your parents do.
�what�s loot?� � well it�s sort of like pirate booty, but you�ll have to ask your parents how you can get some booty, ok?
And on and on it went until my mortal enemies were finally lead away to pastures far from my cubicle world. The teenager hung around my cube the rest of his day and we chatted about stuff and things. Weeks later, his mother began asking me questions on where I could find my kind of music, what sort of hair dye I use and a barrage of other inquiries regarding my social and personal preferences on a myriad of subjects. To his credit, the teenager turned out pretty good and is a pretty stud like and rebellious appendage to his local high school. I for one was entertained at the prospect as at this point, I had never had the urge to raise a child, but was intrigued and what sort of life a prot�g� would have lived.
This trend of child loathing continued along its merry way well past my mid 20�s. I lost a long term relationship based partially on my unwavering view of a no children stance, became black listed from social events that revolved around children�s parties and activities and eventually saw my friends with kids of their own, which had now turned to casual acquaintances, only at large functions or during the holiday season.
One faithful New Years eve, everything changed. Ok, well saying that there was suddenly this monumental change in my disposition regarding kids is not even remotely accurate. It was more of a softening of my shell, a chink in my armor and a slight change in the coal black color of my beating heart. I met my future girlfriend and I was instantly smitten. When I walked into my friend�s house, she was hanging out in front of the television, zoned out on whatever mindless banter was spinning on the DVD machine. At first I took no notice of her as she was pretty tamely dressed and didn�t have a heck of a lot to say. I sat off to the side and waited while our friend readied herself for the evening, quietly sipping a beer. She, however, noticed me and began to instantly pine for my attention. At first I tried to ignore her advances, but something about her smile and her beautiful eyes drew me in and before I knew what was happening I found myself seated in front of my friend�s 9 month old daughter doting away like a caring parental type unit. When I moved to grab beers or greet newcomers, she would fuss until I moved to where she could see me again and any time someone else (except mom) tried to hog her attention, she was having none of it, craning her neck to impossible angles in an attempt to get me back within her vision. I left to my New Years eve celebration with strange feelings of contentment.
While my stance on reproduction hasn�t changed all that much, I do have a soft spot for one little girl and she is the one and only woman who has my unconditional love. She is the only girl that has ever broken through my emotional armor with just a smile, the only female to disarm me completely with a giggle and the only woman to date that can hurl all over my favorite shirt without repercussions or regret and even get a smile from me in return.
Am I ready for kids, you may ask? Why hell no, I�m not even ready to be a babysitter, let alone a parent. But all be damned if when my friends show me pictures of their little ones I can now say, �awww, how cute� and actually mean it this time too.
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