Sonja and I were invited to a child's birthday party on the weekend. It was held at one of those kid's funhouses that are declining in popularity as kids slip further and further into their very own Digital Hells. No one had ever invited us to anything like that before so we went. No one had ever invited us before because kid's funhouses do not sell liquor.
It was an even noisier experience than I expected. The kids (could have been a thousand of the little shits) were having a lot of fun doing the sort of stuff I did every day as I grew - physical stuff.
When the kids in the group we had been invited to party with were called together to eat pizza and cake one of the parents of the kids leaned over and asked me, "So which ones are yours?"
"None of them," I told him.
"None of them?" he asked back like his hearing had failed or something.
"None of them," I confirmed.
"You bastard," he concluded as if I had just told him I had won a fucking lottery.
Usually people ask me who is going to keep care of me when I get old and cannot wipe my own ass and that sort of thing when they find out I am unburdened by young ones. So far I am not having any trouble doing that. I am hoping wiping your own ass is not as important as people make it out to be if one day I forget how to do it or something. People still pay money and go see the Canucks when they stink.
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