...goes the weasel

Sunday, August 31, 2008

The Seventh One (aka The One With The Babies)

Well, my attachment is starting soon. Tomorrow, to be exact. I'm still kinda apprehensive about it, mainly because I still don't know exactly how often I will have to go down to the Cooperation Place worksite. Its on the other side of the island for me, a lot more worse than going down to Ngee Ann from my place. But hey, I'll be getting 600 bucks a month, and hopefully, I won't spend too much of that salary, and have some left for my eventual car lessons. Which should conclude by the time I go into the army. Of course, all that is just wishful thinking for now.

Meanwhile, Mom's been busy, opening up a childcare centre of sorts, right smack in the living room. That's right, there are kids here now, only from the hours 8am to about 6pm. Effectively increasing the number of people within the house from 5 to 7.



Having the kids over here has taught me one thing that I already knew, but just needed confirming. That us older, more mature humans have this innate responsibility to attempt to please, or at least make other, smaller beings laugh. The fact that they have absolutely no idea on what we are doing, or look silly doing stuff apparently does not prevent us from doing such stunts. Which means, the urgent need to please such objects of lesser neurological activity greatly predates the feeling of modesty. Which means that people most probably kept pets/ had fun with babies way before pandora's box was open.

Pets are probably nature's answer to couples who want kids, but can't be fucked to have kids. ('fucked', geddit?) They're cute, can only make noises, and easily satisfied with food. Simple needs, really. Its all any living thing can ask for. I've never really understood this urge to be accepted by animals. But I certainly do accept it. I like animals, for sure, but after all, it does seem a little needy to be accepted by an animal of all things.

No offence to any animal lover though. I'd love to have a dog, but my mom insists on being afraid of anything with fur on it. She was pretty pleasant to the terrapin and guppy. Dogs and cats though, are a whole other matter. She is the type who would avoid felines and canines as if they were those adolescents you see in the orchard underpass, holding on to a metal can with a slot on the top, just large enough it fit a dollar coin. The worst ones are the ones who camp at the foot of the escalator, and you happily get on the escalator going down, only to be suprised at the sight below. By the time you do notice them, however, its too late. There's no going back up the esclator, that would be too obvious. You would have to be forced to meekly surrender any loose change you have with you, and gratefully exchange said coin with a round sticker, and gladly paste that sticker on your shirt, proudly pointing at the sticker when another such school-going kid shoves a large metal can in your face.

by wc at 11:16 PM |