Just about anyone who's spent more than five minutes with me in a public setting knows (and has come to love, I'm sure) That Look I get when there's a baby in the vicinity. That Look is not
the stereotypical girly misty-eyed omigod I want one of those
looks you're thinking of, those of you who haven't spent more than five minutes with me in a public setting. It's quite the opposite, I can assure you. That Look is a sneery, bottom lip jutted, shoulder cocked, chin pulled-in look that any other girl would use to convey "oh she did not
show up carrying my Louie."
Rest assured, though: I'm working on it. Or, at least I'm working on not being so obvious about it. (It has come to my attention that most mothers love love love their babies and aren't at all appreciative of the occasional "Man, don't babies suck
?" look I toss out. I thought for awhile there that I had some special, sympathetic insight, and I guess I always kind of expect a mom to be like, "THANK you! Sometimes babies do
suck, even this one! I'm glad to see someone
Normally I wouldn't hide my disdain at all (I don't censor my facial expressions for non-moms. What? They expect me to ignore that merciless wailing and
conceal my utter disdain?) but now I'm on a mission. That mission? Get on the list.
From a seemingly-casual conversation I had with Fernando the other day:
"I can never drink that much again, or I'm gonna be off some peoples' lists."
"You know. Lists. Like 'Potential Baby Daddy' lists. You're a single girl; you've got
to have a list."
"No. No, I don't think I know about that. People have lists?"
"Yeah. I have a list. There's like, three people on it. I mean, what if I really want kids someday, and I'm alone? What if you
really want kids someday and you're
"I won't want kids someday and... wait, what do you mean 'if I'm alone?!' Who's on this list?"
"Just these people. People I know. Who have good genes."
"I have good genes. Good genes and high SAT scores. And! I'm a natural blonde. Everyone wants a smart blonde baby. Blondes with high SAT scores are in high demand, you know, in that baby harvesting market."
"You do have good genes."
"So, I'm on the list?"
"You don't want babies."
"Minor detail. I'm on the list, right?"
"I haven't known you long enough. And you don't want babies."
"Well! You're on my
"You don't have a list. You didn't even know about the list."
"I have a list. What if I someday, miraculously, against all odds, wake up and need to have a baby? And [inevitably] I'm alone? You ARE my list. You can't take yourself off my list. It's my
list. And, I think it's only fair that because you're on my list, I should be on your list. We can have babies. Not now, but someday. Babies!"
"You hate babies, and you hate moms, and you don't have a list. And there's already people on my list, people I've talked to, people who will definitely, eventually want babies."
So there you have it: not only do I need to a.) start liking babies and b.) get on the list, I must also c.) beat out three other professed baby-lovers to get to the top of the list. I would never settle for fourth best, after all.
So riddle me this: am I really the only
single girl in the world who hasn't been furtively auditioning every man in her life for the role of potential, somewhere-along-the-line sperm donor? Am I
being furtively auditioned by every guy I meet? Are they sizing up my egg-harvesting potential and making mental tics in the minus column every time I order another beer? Does everyone really have a list? Do I need to get on this, like, yesterday? Gah!