Babies.
Yup, you heard me. Those little balls of youthful fat. Those "godsends", those accidents, those bundles of joy that everybody's so freakin' ga-ga over (pun intended). They're cock blocking me.
How could an infant stop me from having sex you ask? Excellent question, I have no fucking idea how it happened - but it did. I am officially un-do-able because I don't want to have babies.
I kid you not perverts, I am literally being denied sex because children aren't in my five year plan. Sounds pretty fucking ridiculous right? Well, it is. But - do we all remember how good I get along with them thirty-something year olds?
Of course we do, my life is fucking marked with permanent ink because of my love of the old dudes. Even when I'm ready to let 'em go and accept my social obligations, they keep fucking chasin' me down. I swear to god, I secrete a pheromone that smells like beer and red meat.
Well here's the thing about them thirty-something year olds, some of them want to have babies.
"But, no!" You exclaim, "surely not the deadbeats you attract!" Oh yes kiddies, even some of them.
So here's my question, when in a person's life should they have to choose between a life of beer, red meat, independence, and youthful genitals and a life of long-term commitment, biological satisfaction, and (most likely unrealistic) idealism.
Now, I don't have the answer because I sure as hell don't have to choose anytime soon. But I'm gonna say you should probably be moving toward one end or the other before your thirty-five. The thirties have always been the period where you have to make this decision. You either stick to your guns and keep living the glorious life of debauchery you did in your twenties, or you get your shit together. I'm not gonna say one is better then the other, but you inevitably have to choose.
Now I realize that men have more time to do the baby-making then women, but I think thirty-five should be the cut off for both, so as to keep some consistency and make everything way fucking easier.
and if you do choose the mowed lawn, white-picket fence, screaming kiddies option, leave us twenty-year olds the fuck alone.
'DILF' of the Week
Pete Murray. Dude's a freakin' lumberjack with a guitar. And he's Australian. His music also makes the average woman's ovaries implode (from what they tell me).
