I would be in a perpetual cycle of bankruptcy (round about this time every year), and recovery (the rest of the year, until Christmas again), until they left home. Or I died of poordom. Whichever happened to come first. My money’s on the latter.
But more likely, is that I would buckle under the pressure, take my leave of them, assume a new identity and abscond somewhere, ooohh let’s say, like Panama.
They are MANIACS at this time of year.
Research has said, that the average spend per child in the UK, until they are eighteen, is £100,000.00. Now, call me foolhardy if you will, but I’m going to stick my neck out here and say, “are you KIDDING me? Have you seen the mountains of presents kids get these days, at Christmas and on their birthdays?” And more importantly, what they get.
Ipads, mobiles, Ferraris. It’s crazy. I remember being cockahoop, looking in the sock at the end of the bed, on Christmas morning and finding a dusty old nut, and a few segments of Terry’s Chocolate Orange. (One between three. It taught us to share.) Aaahh, the good old days.
And those stacks of presents are just twice a year. Which doesn’t even begin to take into account, the mountains of fish fingers and oceans of baked beans, all the rest of the time.
My estimation, is just a tad short of 3.025 gazillion. And who, I say, who, can afford that?
How ever would I buy gin, and trips around Europe?
And that is my ‘reasons why I don’t have kids’ #38.