I want someone to declare a Non-Mother’s Day.
I grind my teeth about this more every year. For the last two weeks, I can’t download my e-mail or walk into a store without being assaulted by exhortations to buy this or that for “Mom.” Take Mom to brunch, get Mom a Kindle, get fabulous Mother’s Day deals at the office furniture outlet, blah blah blah.
I want a day for women who haven’t contributed to the exponential increase in population that will have this planet groaning under ten billion people by the end of the century. I want flowers for not dumping yet another flannelhead into the public education system at taxpayer expense (currently ten thousand bucks a year, give or take). I want a card for sparing the public yet another brace of unsupervised toddlers squealing and stampeding through the grocery or restaurant. I want a discount for not blocking the sidewalk with a double-wide stroller.
I want a promotional deal for not adding to the traffic jams caused by the exodus from soccer practice or the backup behind a discharging school bus. I want champagne for never imagining, not once, that the compensation for my failures, or the salvation of my marriage, lay in producing yet another human being to juggle the hot potato of my problems through life. I want a gift card for not lowering the collective intelligence of the entire human dialogue with squeally, inane public conversations with a repulsively sticky-faced infant.
I want an upgrade to first class for not believing the mere exercise of my biology made me something special. I want complimentary coffee for not nauseating people with the narcissistic details of sonograms. I want overdue-book amnesty for never blathering on about MY KID until anyone with an IQ higher than their heart rate wanted to cover their ears and scream. I want free admission to the movies for never erasing a man’s future by making him a father when he had other plans.
I want a twofer deal for not causing the destruction of more acres of other species’ homes. I want reserved orchestra seating for women who’ve had a tubal ligation. I want an end to the idea that reproduction is some kind of goddam achievement. It’s not as if human beings were in danger of extinction any time soon.
How about a nice Sunday in June?