Story time: Why I do not want children
Today I went to the flagship LEGO store in Copenhagen. It was great. It was a little warm, a little crowded, no biggie.
Until the wailing started. I have never heard anything like it. Like a siren. Suddenly the store felt too hot and too crowded. The sound got louder and louder until the source of the noise came into view.
A small child with his mouth wide open and his face towards the ceiling howling and screaming, while being carried by his father.
As they passed me, the child started hitting his father in the face. His tiny hands smushed his father’s nose, cheeks and lips, like I was watching a boxing match in slow motion, all the time wailing and howling.
What got to me most was the father’s reaction to all of this. He looked like he wanted to disappear. Like that was not how he imagined spending his afternoon. I felt terrible for him. That’s his life now, being smacked in the face by a hellmonster screaming at him.
I do not want that. I never want that.
One legwarmer. Pattern here.
Ignore my mutated right leg.
That tired post-socialising haze where you think about all the stupid shit you said.