Spawn of Satan

by tess

Linda the Loudmouth (the one whose son is marrying some girl just to escape his mother’s tender mercies) couldn’t hold out the last ten months until the wedding. Nope. She actually uttered the G word this morning: Grandmother. She’s already blathering about these kids (who don’t have an apartment or jobs) having kids. I really believed that the overbearing-mother-in-law-carping-about-Where-Are-My-Grandchildren myth was just a 1950s urban legend. Apparently it’s alive and well (and in serious need of a professional root job) in suburban South Florida.

And speaking of rugrats, I was congratulated Friday on the wisdom of abstaining from having children. If I had a dollar for every time someone has said that, I would be bailing out the banks instead of worrying about my crappy little part-time job. Of course my friends and family know me well enough to offer their sentiments on the matter, and that’s fine. People who are bright enough to gauge my reaction and brave enough to endure my wrath can offer many solicitous remarks without being thoroughly and immediately eviscerated:

Treadmill Tina: “Ever hear of a salad? It’s green and good-for-you. You might want to try one sometime.”
Beauty Shop Barbie: “Gee, your hair looks … interesting today. Flat hair is soooooo The New Black.”
Fashionista Felicia: “Nice shoes. Did they come from that new Wal-Mart?”

Such honesty may not make me weak-in-the-knees with gratitude, but sometimes being forthright is the best way to be a friend. Oh sure, I’ll glare and spend the next four days trying to formulate a witty retort, but I can take it because these people know me. Shockingly, several even have my own best interests at heart. Or at least near that vacant space in their chests where hearts would be in anatomically correct people.

But when a virtual stranger tells me that I shouldn’t have had children? It’s unlikely that he and I are destined to become BFFs. I suppose I should feel grateful that they first confirm I haven’t actually produced devil spawn. Typically the conversation proceeds thusly:

Virtual Stranger: “Do you have any children?”
Tess: “Nope.”
Virtual Stranger: “I didn’t think so. That was probably a good idea.”
Tess: “Yeah, no kidding.”
Tess thought bubble after long … dare I say PREGNANT … pause: Hey. Wait a minute. I think that was an insult. Yeah, that was definitely an insult. Oh well, whatevs. Wonder if there’s any ice cream at home.

Clearly this question will continue to haunt me, so I’m going to devise a better response.
Nothing straight-forward like: “Hello? None of your business, you dung-filled douchebag.”
Maybe something with a religious twist: “No, the Good Lord didn’t see fit to reward me with angels of my own.”
Or tragic: “No, sir; none who’ve survived.” (Fake tears would be a serious bonus here!)
Or possibly hopeful (and hysterical given that I’m nearly 50 and thoroughly ill-equipped): “Not yet, but we’re still real hopeful!”

Or maybe I’ll just stick with the tried and true “Yeah, no kidding.” Perhaps it’s braver to have an opinion but not share it. Possibly the contemplative trumps the clownish. Maybe it’s preferable to consider a facetious response but not express it.

Who am I kidding? No Freakin’ Way is there anything better in the universe than to have The Perfect Smartass Response in your back pocket just itching to come out and play. BOOM, there it is! Woe-unto-you the next silly sod who commends me on my childlessness. You’ve got a bucket full of sarcasm coming your way!