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The Point of Having Kids

My friend Carolyn is pregnant and all people can do is give her dire horrible  warnings about how her life is going to suck the second her baby boy pops out. I hate that shit. There are so many good things about having a baby, the least of which being that babies are cute (though they are). The key good thing about having kids? Kids are so damn funny.

I had to take Sid, Owen and Ollie to school today, which I sometimes do; the high school and middle school they attend are minutes away from Matilda’s elementary school. I was in a pretty foul mood, as The Matilda is STILL sick and her being home tends to screw with my life’s groove.

The boys all pile into the car; I take Sid to his high school first. While we’re in the queue behind cars and buses, we see a kid walk by that makes me say, “Oh my.” Not in a good way. Because he’s all in black and has this terrible long greasy hair. Okay, maybe it wasn’t greasy. Maybe it was still wet from the shower. I don’t know. Anyway, he looked like the kind of guy who works in a sub shop and sells weed out the back door.

Sid laughed, and said, “Yeah, that’s Dirty Dave.” Then he gets out of the car and says bye and I’m now instantly happy. Because I’m thinking about what the backstory is, how you get to be the guy called “Dirty Dave” in your high school. Does he like being called “Dirty Dave?” Does he get any chicks? Is he actually dirty?

These are the crucial questions my mind likes to moodle over.

We head down the road to the middle school. We get stuck at the million-year-long light so I get to stare at the bashed-in bumper of a mini van with expired tabs and those family stick figure stickers on the back.  You know, the kind where it has the mom and dad stickers and you buy as many kid stickers in the appropriate gender and age for your family? You can also buy pet stickers. Then you line them up on the back of your shitty minivan and continue on with your crappy life, I guess.

Anyway, while we’re sitting there waiting for the million-year light, Owen and Ollie start talking about how they’d like to buy a shitty minivan so they could put their own stickers up.

“Like, just 20 babies, nothing else,” Owen says.

“No, I’d do one man and three women and no kids at all,” Ollie says.

“What about 30 cats and one lady?” I suggest.

You see how this went. Needless to say by the time I got back home, I felt a lot happier about spending the day with my coughing, miserable child.

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