Folks who know me in meatspace (ie: outside of my charming 'net persona,) may wonder how come someone who gets so googly-eyed over cute babies can be such a committed misanthrope otherwise. It's simple, really...
When Quinn gets brought to visit Crazy Gun Store Lady, I find his gurgling, yelling of random nonsense, total self-absorption, and uncoordinated lunges for my ponytail to be cute. Because he's eleven months old.
When the same actions are coming from a forty-six year-old accountant at a local watering hole, on the other hand, I find myself having to suppress an atavistic urge to dot him right between the running lights...
I actually enjoy the company of adult human beings, on those very rare occasions when I meet any in this sea-to-shining-sea Romper Room.
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My wife was surprised at how patient I can be with kids. I get frustrated with adults who do the same dumb things over and over or who do things when they should know better, but I understand that kids have to be taught things.
You're a much better woman than me because I just can't deal with kids. It's not my thing.
Reminds me of some dogs I know, not mean, but take no shit, 140lb+ canines.
Dogs that could crush your skull or bite through your ankle in about 30seconds. BIG dogs.
You see them with puppies, or human babies, suffering the worst indignities: being ridden, poked, screamed at, bitten... And when they get fed up, they carefully scrape the offendng child/puppy off, sigh and march off.
I wouldn't dare.
See, there's the thing. Some people think of introversion as a disease rather than a blessing...
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