Devils in baby blue jumpsuits

You know, I'm starting to think I'm evil.

I was in the park having a picnic today for Mum's birthday and there was this group of people playing cricket about 50m from us. And because Mum's friends are shit boring and I was the only one there younger than 55, I was watching the other people who seemed to be having much more fun than me (damn them all to hell! lol).

There was this little kid there that must have been about two with a plastic kiddie cricket bat and a twenty-something guy (who was a bit alright, I might add, not that I was noticing or anything) who was bowling down to this kid. And the older guy threw it a little too hard and the kid missed it and the ball hit the stumps. And you know what I thought? I was thinking, "DAMN IT, it missed that kid's head".

I am so evil. I really don't like children, do I?! I thought it was something I would grow out of. But it clearly isn't. Cos at my age, usually girls are hearing that incessant 'tick tock tick tock' and trying to snag any poor bloke with workable tackle to help them fulfil their parental dream. But not me. A friend said to me the other day 'Children is what you do when you've done absolutely everything you've ever wanted to do and your life is over.' A piece of wisdom if ever I heard it.

And yet, I love those damn kids at the school. I have absolutely no problem teaching very newly pubescent teenage kids how to play the clarinet - in fact, I kinda look forward to it lately - but I can't stand children clinging on to my legs at the dinner table at Xmas or asking me to read them the same bloody picture book a thousand times. I got subjected to my 6 year old cousin asking me to do the word find in the newspaper with her for 3 HOURS! She sat on my lap, the little heavyweight, and would not move until we'd found every bleeding word in the damn thing. For anyone else, this would be a touching moment of bonding with family. For me, it was Nightmare on Elm Street VIII.

My mum's family in Tassie think my lack of maternal instinct is selfishness. They think it's that I refuse to dedicate myself to another human being. And I object to that. Cos if I'm thinking, "I wish a cricket ball had hit a kid in the noggin", can you IMAGINE what I would be like if I had a kid drawing on my newly painted walls with crayon or eating my bleach under the sink or using my shiny baby tenor saxophone Stan (yes, he has a name!) as a baseball bat?!

I think I'm doing the world a favour.