No babies!

Someone brought her baby into work today, and I was thinking, "Man, I feel so uncomfortable about that. I wish I could bitch about it." Then I remembered I have a blog that hasn't been updated in quite some time, so you get to hear about it.

It's no secret that I am not into babies. I understand they're necessary to the continuation of the species, so I don't agitate to outlaw them, yet in general I don't really want any part of them. They're loud, demanding, often smelly, totally non-self-sufficient, and, contrary to popular opinion, not always cute. When someone brings a baby to work, I find myself unsure how to proceed. The options that present themselves are:

Tell the truth: "Wow. A baby. Like I've never seen one of those before. Take it away, please."
Tell a lie: "Aww...look how cute! and he has little booties!"
Be untruthful without actually lying: "Congratulations! You must be very proud." (I say this in the same voice as option #2, so as to imply cuteness without indicating that I actually think so. Which I usually don't.)
Flee: This one's self-explanatory.

The real kicker is that I don't blame new parents for being proud. After all, they've brought into being a completely new being who, in about twenty years, could become a totally interesting person I'd love to have around. That's no mean feat. I'll be happy about it in twenty years.

P.S. I was attacked by a small dog Sunday while on 23rd Street near Locust. The little fucker broke off its leash and lunged at me repeatedly, and, being the humanitarian I am, I didn't drop kick it towards Spruce. Its owner chased it ineffectually, telling me, "Oh, she just barks." Uh-huh. If she ever comes after me again she'll spend the rest of her days drinking her Alpo through a straw.