Reasons why I don’t have kids #67

Uuuummmm, because I’m good? Thanks.

Another week, another sweet-intentioned ( if a tad tiresome) insistence that’s ‘THERE’S STILL TIME!’, to birth that family I somehow overlooked/forgot to have.

It basically started with a simple, throw-away, ‘I’m not a mother, but even I know it’s not good to leave your toddler home alone, so that he can exit the flat onto the terrace where he will dangle from the balcony over which he has climbed, for some heart stopping moments until a kind boy rescues him without a thought for his own safety, by scaling four floors of the outside of the building.’

You know, that type of thing.

It was not a last minute cry for help, or a yowl for a motherhood lost – I was simply emphasising the outstanding stupidity of the ‘responsible’ adult at the heart of the drama. To be honest, it makes a refreshing change to not be talking about my own….. (The chap charged with taking care of the toddler; if I haven’t made that clear enough.)

So, instead of provoking the conversation I had hoped for, (using second conditional sentences. Natch.) that being about the heroic saving of said child by an undocumented migrant to France who has since met the President, been awarded citizenship and a place training to be a fireman there. And of course the rampant stupidity of the chap charged with taking care of the child – it went a bit like this:


‘Hombre! Que no… tengo cuarenta y siete años.’


‘I could adopt. I know that.’


‘Dude! I don’t really know you. But yes, I am aware of that.’


‘I don’t want them. But good to know.’

‘….. ? ? ? ? ? ? ..………………………………………………….



You get the picture.

Look. I like the peace and quiet. Especially now I’m not in the heart of noisy, stabby, smelly let me take a shitty-on-your-doorstepsville.

I like lost weekends with friends. That doesn’t necessarily mean blurred by alcohol (but most of the time it kind of does). I have a lovely little place with a lovely little balcony and a nice little job. I please myself. I lie-in. I meet friends. I don’t meet friends. I can go out for dinner on Friday night and not leave my house afterwards until Sunday morning. Truth be told, I’m not a massive fan of responsibility. It strikes fear into my very soul and has the ability to freeze what’s left of my charcoal heart to its very *cœur. I am responsible for myself, my students’ education and a few plants. That’s quite enough adulting for me. Thank you very much. I am totally ensconced in my happy place.

There’s a crack in the pipe under the sink in the kitchen I’ve been meaning to sort out since I moved in. I’ll get around to it. Not that I’m comparing a childcare to a plumbing job… well, not intentionally, anyway. There’s no fuss, little drama (especially when I’m single)………. and probably most importantly – absolutely no chance of me LEAVING MY CHILD HOME ALONE, TO ALMOST PLUMMET TO HIS DEATH.

So, you know, it’s a win all round.

And that is my ‘reasons why I don’t have kids’ #67.

*see what I did there?


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