You’ve Reached a Coon Hat Wearin, Childfree Zone

Now that I’ve reached my sexual prowess (AKA turned 30) it’s only natural that people ask me when I’m going to breed. And it’s only natural that I express my frustration in the best form that I know: words. This doesn’t go for my family or close friends. They know my belief system and I’m not shy about telling them if they ask.

"Mom, I can’t hold a baby. I barely have enough time to hold the remote control in one hand and a PBR in the other. Never mind the horse head."

“Mom, I can’t hold a baby. I barely have enough time to hold the remote control in one hand and a PBR in the other. Never mind the horse head.”

This goes for acquaintances, strangers, and those hobos at the park who just goddamn won’t let me check the mail in peace.

"Guys, seriously?"

“Guys, seriously?”

If we’re first time meeters and you casually ask, “Do you have children?” I’ll relax my grip on your throat. I’ll allow this question. It’s an expected curiosity. However, if you ask, “When are you going to have children?” well get ready for a ripe retort. Because that’s what you get for being a complete doucher.

First, this question is insulting. Not only is it none of your business, but what if I can’t have children? What if I’m a hermaphrodite? What if I’m still waiting for a marriage proposal from Rob Lowe, you guys?

I don’t even get the courtesy, “Are you planning to have children?” question. It’s the straight assumption that it’s an inevitable fact, which really stings like those Indian burns you used to give your little sister.

You can't see the fear in her eyes.

You can’t see the fear in her eyes.

Second, you make me the awkward one for struggling for a response. And more often than not, if I’m honest with strangers, “I don’t want children yet,” then I get the rebuttal, “Well, just wait for it. You will,” or some equally eye-roll-worthy coddling response that they probably deem is suitable for a Hallmark Card.

So I feel it’s only fair to reply with some sort of statement that will make you blink. For instance, I once had a 32 year-old male co-worker say, “When are you gonna pop out a kid?”

I had set my pen down and my bottle of ether and said, “I can’t have children. My insides are so rotted no life can live down there.”

What?

He asked.

After a slack-jawed gape, he promptly shut up and performed his sullen computer programming duties.

That’s right fucker. You’re here to work. Not ask me about my ovaries.

That’s right fucker. You’re here to work. Not ask me about my ovaries.

One night I decided to make a list of all the responses a childfree woman or man could give when barraged with this tiring question.

Here are just a few responses to The Question When Are You Having Children?

  • In 1999, the US Army declared me a childfree zone
  • I just waxed…so…
  • I saw Rosemary’s Baby and it just took all the fun out of it.
  • Full House scarred me for life.
  • My license to breed has been revoked. Voluntarily.
  • I can’t handle anything with bowel movements bigger than mine.

And in the heat of the writing-moment, I also broke down and made a video. I wore a coon cap because it’s my Superman cape, okay, you guys?

I hope you watch this with a thousand yard stare.

Enjoy the jump cuts, bitches.

13 Comments
  • Reply

    Cat R.

    January 28, 2013 at 1:14 am

    Hey hon. Longtime! How ya been? Your blog is hilarious as usual.

  • Reply

    Colleen S.

    January 28, 2013 at 1:17 am

    Love it! I have found the classic ” I can’t give up the meth and booze for 9 months.” to be effective. Surprised I still get this question. Who do they think I am? the biblical Sarah ?!!

  • Reply

    reggiedog

    January 28, 2013 at 2:03 am

    LOL

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  • Reply

    Melanie Page

    January 28, 2013 at 2:08 am

    My friend is pregnant with her first kid and keeps posting blogs other women write about being moms. Recently, one blog said motherhood means never showering again. I have this feeling that if your baby dies in the 15 minutes it takes you to wash away the pit stank and dried breast milk, he/she was not meant for this world.

  • Reply

    Ali Trotta

    January 28, 2013 at 2:33 am

    THIS. So much this. People get in your face and rude about stuff that is not their business. And to ask the status of my uterine plans is just a WORLD of NO. it makes me Stabby. The fact that it is somehow not a valid CHOICE and that you will change your mind? It’s total crap. Total CRAP.

    *breathes* this is right up there with when people ask if I’m “dating anyone special.” No, I only date mundanes. Next question?

    Great post!

  • Reply

    downanddirtydesign

    January 28, 2013 at 4:20 am

    Pure gold, sister. Pure gold.

  • Reply

    Marcus Speh

    January 28, 2013 at 5:41 am

    It is a very old problem to which there are only hard answers but no fast ones. Wishing you luck with this. –a breeder.

  • Reply

    Kent Rogne

    January 29, 2013 at 7:00 am

    As a close friend of your mum, and a soon to be grandpappy [x] two,… Give it your leave, all in good time. We will all be fantastically happy for you and your family IF and WHEN you are good and god-damned ready! Didn’t mean to get your “OIRISH” up so soon after returning from the Emerald Isle…. but you have to do this in your own time….The result will be …in my humble opinion, a fantastically analytic, yet storied offspring, one we (Mish, Daniel, Chrissy, you, and I) will all be proud to know Julia!

  • Reply

    Harley May

    January 29, 2013 at 6:51 pm

    I love this, Jules! I learned early on to never, ever, you know. People’s business is there business.

    You look very pretty in your coon hat. MIghty fine, indeed.

    • Reply

      Harley May

      January 29, 2013 at 6:58 pm

      *their business. Writer is smaaaat

  • Reply

    julesjustwrite

    January 30, 2013 at 2:25 am

    Thanks all!

  • Reply

    Tracy

    January 30, 2013 at 10:33 pm

    So that would be “never,” then? 😉

    Love your hat.

  • Reply

    julieinnis

    February 10, 2013 at 7:51 pm

    love love love love! tho’ I dunno what’s worse – that some shitheads still ask me the kid-Q or that other shitheads have stopped asking because they’ve decided I’m too damn old to start popping out babies now. either way, f-you nosey peeps!

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