Your Child is Pestilent

I do not like children. Oh, I’ve met a handful in my life who stirred indulgent feelings in me (if I cogitate upon it, I can think of one, anyway), but mostly, I want the noisy, messy, nasty, self-centered, stupid little things to go the hell away. Don’t ask me to be near them till they can talk in complete sentences; appreciate the value of peace and quiet; understand the need to respect other people’s feelings, rights and property; and concentrate on something (other than a television or a video game) for longer than fifteen seconds.

I have a nice old couple who sometimes get appointments back to back and some of those times, they have drawn babysitting duty and bring a repulsive, porkulent, sedentary granddaughter. She comes equipped with a handheld electronic game and a smirking whine (not a common feat). Grandma thinks she is a nice, considerate kid. I think she is a punk. She leaves a miasma in the room that would drive a Feng Shui consultant rabid. It’s like the psychic corollary of a hanging cloud of stale farts.

Today, she found she would have to sit through two appointments, first whining and then lurking heavily outside the treatment-room door until I nearly stepped over to yank it open in her face. I could hear her breathing and shuffling in the hall, and going back to complain to Grandpop. It always creeps me out to think she is in my front room without my being there, even with one of her grandparents watching; I keep trying to get her to go outdoors and play on my lawn, but the very idea apparently is incomprehensible to this glutinous mass of grade-school fungus.

The first time she was here, she walked over to a shelf of pottery and objets with her game-boy stylus and poked it into the mouth of a little cat figurine, eliciting a limply inadequate wheedle of reprimand from Grandma. I restrained an urge to wrench her head from her shoulders, which I probably could do.

She stepped backward into a lush pile of turd that my Maine Coon had, uncharacteristically, left on the completely washable, brown rug.

I apologized profusely for the mishap and offered to take her clog and wash it off. I had to get out of the room fast so they wouldn’t see me laughing fit to bust.

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7 thoughts on “Your Child is Pestilent

  1. Pingback: Rude Assholes « Sixteen Tons

  2. Pingback: Waterboarding « Sixteen Tons

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