misAdventures of Workmonkey 3.0

As married life approaches, I've been slowly preparing for the eventual presence of children, which i believe is the Latin name for the cheerful little human beings that always seem to present when visiting certain friends. My reflections have led me to conclude that it is not children I fear, but parents. Children are innocent and laugh when they fart. Parents are pretentious, and walk around with things like this attached to their persons:

Only parents have enough time and memories of the movie Adam to imagine up contraptions like this:

Parents roll their twins down the narrow aisles of tiny, packed New York restaurants, openly defying the idea that you should wait at least twelve hours after having babies before bringing them to a long, romantic dinner . But it's cool because hey, they're alternative. They still wear Pumas.

Parents also think that because they're parents, they're automatically qualified to tell other parents about how to be better parents (the simple act of giving birth doesn't instantly qualify you as a parental expert. Look no further than Joseph Goebbels, or, say, Britney Spears). Celebrities are particularly adept at this. They were the 12 trillionth person to have a child over the course of human history, and yet, they believe they're experience was unique enough that other people would find it unique:

Thank you, celebrities, for teaching the world how to be better parents. I'd also appreciate it if you could teach us how to be better mechanics, field marshals, and secretaries of the interior. In the future, save your writing efforts for the day when you climb Mt. Everest with artificial limbs and a blind alpaca strapped to your back. That's a story I might find interesting. You pushing a kid out of your vagina is not, even if that vagina is well known, having been featured in People.

As my own parenting days approach, I shall work to make the transition as smooth as possible. To be accepted by the Park Slope sect, I'll buy Pumas, drink strawberry belinis, walk Jill around on a leash, criticize the local Kindergarten's syllabus with parents (hand painting should always come after nap time), and write edgy, alternative parenting books like Babies and Beer: What Brewing Beer Taught Me about Raising Children and The 20-year hangover: The Guide to Drinking and Parenting . Then, when the day happens, I'll be able to hit the ground running.