Birthday Bitches

I cannot even begin to imagine how hard it is to raise a child.  Having the responsibility of being the sole provider and mentor for a living thing for the rest of my life terrifies me.  Knowing I could accidentally kill it at any given moment makes me hesitant about having children. I also fear that I would be one of “those” parents, whose child ends up being the kid that all parents talk about behind their backs. The kid who is responsible for the rolling eyes and sighing when they come around because of the kid’s past bratty escapades and mischief. Or the kid who is cause for the plea phone calls by other parents, school principals, teachers, and babysitters etc., begging me to pick them up. Even so, I would hope no matter how much I fuck up, I would not be as bad as some of the “parents” I come in contact with on a day to day basis, because most of the time, it really isn’t the children’s fault at all—they can’t help that their parents are incompetent.

A while back, I was in Spencer’s (I know, I know—it was a while back, when I actually WENT to malls and looked in shops like Spencer’s—sue me) innocently looking for a new backpack when I came across three screaming children. Two of them could not be more than five, and one of them was probably seven.  At first I was annoyed at how they seemed to be unsupervised and were just running around the store. This annoyed feeling was short lived, and quickly turned to shock when I caught a glimpse of what was on top of their heads….

They had on birthday hats.

This normally doesn’t seem like such a bad thing, but you have to remember I was in Spencer’s. This is the store where adults can find jewelry, purses, and book bags, between fake throw up and poop, t-shirts, perverted birthday cards and “other things” which shall not be named in this story. I don’t want those words pertaining to certain “toys” being linked to my name on Google. You know what I’m talking about. If you don’t, you’re lucky—don’t ask questions and move along. But I digress.

The birthday hat on top of their heads had one single line in hot pink cursive against the black.

“Birthday Bitch”.

Perplexed on whether I should laugh or cry, I stood there in shock and gaped at them.  “Where the hell are their parents?” I thought to myself while considering either taking the hats off of their heads for them, or letting the parents know what their kids were up to. I looked around quickly to see if the parents were in the store, because surely if they were, they would not have let their children wear these “R” rated hats. I glanced to my left and saw the cards with all the naked people whether they be big or small, and did not see anyone who could remotely be their parents. I glanced to my right at the adult toy section, and saw two individuals who resembled the children perfectly.

Too scared to go into that section in the first place, much less to tell someone how to raise their children, I picked up a birthday card with an obese naked woman (unfortunately) on the front, feigned interest at what the “intelligent” message was in the card and tried to spy without being too obvious. As I continued glance up at them from behind my classy card, I saw they were holding fuzzy handcuffs; some lube, hot pink “fun dice”, a sex board game, and…yes…a penis enlarger. A. Penis. Enlarger. PENIS ENLARGER!

I no longer felt embarrassed to be holding a card with a fat naked woman bending over a chair on it. Especially since I began using it to cover up my horrified face.

“Surely they don’t realize their children have these hats on their head, and are now playing with the penis pump and using it as a baton”, I thought to myself as the children gleefully spun the pump in the air and had a parade in their new hats. The parents turned to their children, and I began to feel relief because I knew a lecture was coming.

Alas, the parents merely pointed and laughed, and commented about how they were glad the children could not read the hats, or understand that they were holding a penis pump.

As soon as this statement was uttered, the seven year old giggled and said very loudly, “I love being a birthday bitch!”

The smiles quickly faded from the “parents’” faces, and they ran over and snatched the hats off of the children’s heads. They quickly removed the penis pump from their possession–probably worried they were able to read the “Penis Enlarger” label since they could read the birthday bitch hats. As the mother rushed the children out of the store, the father paid for their adult entertainment and I felt glad that at least the parents were embarrassed by the outburst. This showed they still had a little ethic inside of them.

Sort of.

I am not saying I will be the best parent in the world if I do end up having a child. Like I said, the idea scares the hell out of me. However, at least I have enough common sense to know, that children may sometimes surprise you with how much they really do know, and understand, and we should be careful by our assumptions that they are oblivious to the world around them.  Maybe if I continue to observe these parenting “techniques” I will be ready, and I will not have the kids nobody wants over for dinner, or the kid who throws tantrums at restaurants.  Maybe it is all in how you raise the children, and how many spankings they get from time to time…and if you don’t believe your child is a perfect darling little princess or try reasoning with a four year old.

I may not know much about parenting now, but I do know this: I’m never taking my children into Spencer’s.


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