Nevertheless, by the time you enter your late 20s things start to change. One night stands and random hook-ups start to look cheap. Getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic. And girls you once dated are now announcing their engagements! If I learned anything from grade school it's that first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage. While marriage at this point in my life is still somewhat frightening to me, it's nowhere near as terrifying as having a baby! Just typing that four letter curse word, baby, causes a little bit of pee to trickle down my leg.
I feel for women because they have a problem men don't have - a shortage of time. I know as women enter their late 20s their biological clock is tic-toking away. And many start feeling the pressure from family and friends to snag a guy, settle down and have that baby. Of course most guys in their age demographic are too busy giggling over farting noises to hear (or care) the tic-toking of her biological clock. And there lies the problem. People are often in different chapters of their life. So for people to assume you are ready and willing to start a certain phase of your life just because you "hit that average age" seems rather presumptuous and kind of rude. They fail to consider where you are in life or what you want out of life. And most importantly, what precedence (if any) will marriage, kids and career play in your life.
The truth is I don't know if marriage and kids are for me. Some day I would like to think so, especially since that is what society tells me is part of a full life. But for now, neither interest me. I'm currently married to my business. My Bulldog is my son. And I feel full.
Sometimes verbalizing what you want, or don't want, isn't enough. Sometimes you have to show people as well. I think I do a good job at being upfront and clear about my intentions, or lack thereof, but apparently my date the other night would disagree. Because despite my best efforts to make it perfectly clear I am in no way interested in anything even remotely serious, she had baby agenda on the brain! Babies are pretty much the only thing she talked about all night. So much so that the only way I could fake interest in the baby conversation is if I imagined the funny farting noise a baby sometimes makes. Or calculating how much further she would need to lean across our table in that dress before a nip slip would occur.
I bought a car with a backseat so small it is virtually useless for a reason. The reason - to send a subliminal message to every woman I date that I don't want any bald, toothless midgets in my near future. I hate family friendly restaurants, PG movies and ponies. I like my music loud and sexually explicit. I go out late. I don't come home early. And I WILL NOT sell my motorcycle!
I own a house, but that doesn't mean I want to start a family. It's more like a glorified bachelor pad and I plan on keeping it that way. It's not baby proof and that's how I like it. There's pointy edged furniture and hardwood floors, neither which are conducive to crawling but both are conducive to cranium cracking. I keep my water tank heater high enough to scold skin and I have a brick fireplace that contains REAL FIRE! If the risk of melting flesh isn't enough of a baby deterrent, let me also point out the section of open staircase without any railing. My leather couch did not come with a guarantee that it can withstand some dirty little monkey's soiled britches or that it's baby puke resistant. There's a wine cabinet at "kid cereal isle" eye-level and a empty shot glass from last night sitting by the sugar bowl. I keep my sharp knives on the edge of the kitchen counter. I purchase medicine without childproof caps. And stocked are a slew of poisons that are all easily accessible from various low level cabinets throughout the house.
After a shower, I've been known to walk around in only a towel for an extended period of time and on Monday nights I run with scissors (not at the same time though). I've eaten popcorn solely for dinner and once I drank myself to sleep. Candy has never fallen out of my pockets, but condoms have. I enjoy saying fuck out loud, hanging out with inappropriately dressed women and there may even be a porno left in the DVD player. Simply put - I'm not currently Dad of The Year material.
But despite my best efforts to not only tell her, but to also show her I'm not in that "baby stage" of my life yet by giving her a tour of my crib, it falls on deaf ears and blind eyes. She continues on and all I can think about is how I wish there was less talking and more sex. For a brief moment, I consider inviting her upstairs. Then I remember that's how babies are made. And I'm not ready for a baby. So I drive her home instead. And I write this post.
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