Emerald Bile

I love children, and can't fucking stand those bitter women who announce that they never want to have children, as a response to meeting someone who has them. You know the kind, women who had quite a few boyfriends in their early twenties, and then an enormous dry spell, during which they became more and more self obsessed, and think people are interested in whether or not they intend to breed. Noone is interested. I don't care whether people have children or not, they can get sterilised, or have a million little bastards all living off the state, I couldn't give a shite.
Yes, I am a very special person indeed, because I am even tolerant of children who scream on planes, or who have screaming tantrums in restaurants or shops, it just does not bother me a bit. Quite often, I totally agree with the little fuckers. It IS boring, waiting in a queue, or hanging about waiting for some french nonce to bring you awful food, and planes are big arseholes. Without Bach Rescue Remedy, I would definitely scream on planes too, they are dreadful places.

I am incredibly tolerant of children, as long as they are off, busy being children. I have no wish whatsoever to talk to them, or answer their repetitive and irritating questions. The best rule to teach your children, is not to speak to anyone more than two years older or two years younger than them, unless it is an absolute emergency. This way, children have conversation topics in common with the person they are speaking to: the names of fossils, or awful japanese monsters, hilarious tales about the friend at nursery school who forgot his pencil case. Even better still, children do not have to answer awful grown up questions like :"Are you enjoying school", or "What are you doing at school at the moment" which I used to think, and still think, the most extraordinary sort of thing to ask anyone. And adults escape the moronic monolgues of the young, droning on and on about space, or their new cartoon socks. Not that there is anything WRONG with talking utter shit, it can be soothing to listen to, but I find, if I want some moronic conversation,then I go to the hairdressers, and kill two birds with one stone. I get the high of thinking: "This person is an utter cretin" and I come out with a neater coiffure. Until children can blow-dry really effectively, they should be seen and not heard.

Many of the children I know are born to "older" parents, and it might sound unkind, but older parents are absolute cunts. Flabbergasted that something which is not excrement, can come out of a bodily orifice, they drag their horrible offspring (who always have totally mental names) everywhere, and retire from society entirely themselves, answering all questions through their children. I had a conversation just the other day which went like this:
Me: " So, what are your plans for Christmas? Are you staying here?"
Old Parent "What are we doing for Christmas, Florian-Jay?"
Brat: stuttering, drooling, looking at his nails, twisting one leg around the other "We are going to my aunt's"
Me (addressed to parent) "Is that the aunt who used to live in a commune, the one who married an Algerian?"
Old Parent "Which aunty is it, Florian-Jay"
Brat: "My, um my, um my um (MASSIVE PAUSE) My, um . I like winnie the pooh, do you like winnie the pooh?"

Fucking awful children with the manners of goats. Worse manners than goats, because their stupid, doting parents have taught them that, as long as you prefix any type of extreme impertinence with a mumbled "Scuse me", then everyone will be delighted to call a halt to the interesting conversation they were having and listen to the nipper's bunch of garbled hogshite recounted in the type of old-git language their parents use: "As a matter of fact, I am at nusery school. It is nice, Mummy takes me there. For your information I'm thoroughly enjoying it". Jesus Fucking Christ.
Noreen