Breakfast at the diner

I sat up at the counter. All the better to stay away from the families with babies and young kids that infested the place.

I could hear one kid yelling from across the room, "Mommy! Mommy! I ate my eggies! Mommy! Mommy! I ate all my eggies! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy...Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

Annoyance quickly gave way to relief that I never have to look over the table at a small, breakfast-smeared face and interrupt my conversation with another adult to say, "Yes, honey, you ate all your eggies. That's a good (boy, girl, beast, whatever)."

I don't know how parents stand it. I truly don't. Maybe I would know, had I actually ever wanted kids. It must be like having an exotic animal for a pet. If you're really into the idea, maybe it isn't such a bad thing when the creature shrieks or claws or breaks things or shits all over the room.

I'm not into the idea, can't be bothered to be into the idea, and I don't have any particular admiration for those who can.