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Welcome to my blog. Brb... I'm making memories (read as: Wine. I'm going to get some wine...)

Pink Foot Phobia

I don’t know what it is about women when they reach a certain age. They become completely baby OBSESSED, and suspicious of any woman around them past the age of let’s say – 18, who isn’t a breeder yet. As if we’re less human than them.

They just don’t understand! Un momento por favore… no children? Surely not!

If you haven’t popped out a little sprog and haven’t fulfilled your true destiny into womanhood – you know… fertile loins and all of that stuff that makes me want to do a little vomit in my mouth and makes me think of overripe fruit, well then, there MUST be something wrong with you! You get “the frown”, some even sniff you suspiciously. Well… why DON’T you want children?

Personally, I’m just shy of 35, haven’t had a broody moment in my life yet and to be perfectly frank I’m quite a fan of the size of my vagina right now. To push something the size of a watermelon out of it just brings not only tears to my eyes, but visuals of you waving your hand around a clowns pocket!

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I will NEVER have children, what I am saying though is BACK THE HELL UP OFF ME *sweet smile* On my own damn time thanks very much!

I choose my own life right now.

I choose travel.

I choose vast amounts of red wine followed by caramel vodka shots and not feeling bad because you accidentally left your baby under the table at the “Spur” in a drunken stupor (People apparently frown upon this). You only have to worry about getting your OWN arse home!

I choose sleeping late without having to worry that your child has woken up, sorted their own breakfast out and is currently feeding fruit loops into your Blue-Ray player.

I choose sex with the door open without worrying about the therapy bills you’ll be paying after your child has walked in on you and asked why you’re spanking mom on the butt and yelling “Who’s your DADDDDDDDY” (To ensure parental sanity remains intact please note that Dalekins and I do not take part in any lewd acts as stipulated in this paragraph – this is a joke. No need to poke out your minds eye.)

I choose being able to glare down viciously at the little troll who’s red in the face, flailing their arms and legs around on the floor of the Spar screaming about wanting sweeties NOWWWWWWW, and being able to mouth quietly “If you don’t shut up Jesus won’t love you anymore” without feeling parental guilt – like you’re traumatizing your OWN child. I choose to traumatize OTHER children instead.

And finally, I choose to not have babies until you can grow them in a petri dish, and until it’s legal to put them in a cupboard (With a can of tuna AND an opener – I’m not a complete barabrian for goodness sake) and leave them be while you lie on the couch and watch “Kardashian” re-runs in peace!

Lets make a deal. If I see you pushing your pram and holding onto another 2 toddler’s hands I WON’T yell at you that the world is over populated as it is, stop breeding like rats! If you don’t sniff me suspiciously and think I’m secretly a man just because I’m not too keen on bringing forth the fruit from my loins just yet….


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