Like Mum says, don’t trust small-breasted women and do-gooders.

Thursday, 9 March 1995, 12:16PM

Hi S,

How’s the incubation coming along? I was watching television the other day, and one of those ads came on for World Vision Sponsorship, you know, you get to buy a Ugandan child’s reverence for a few bucks a week, it’s all a bit creepy if you ask me. I was wondering if the World Vision people target childless people or parents. Whether they go for sympathy or empathy (or vicariousness for those middle class, middle aged whites who feel they haven’t suffered enough). Whatever the motives, I get so sick of those ads. How do they know exactly when I’m eating a packet of chips? Every time I’m digging into a packet of Cheese and Onion Smith’s Chips, there he is, little Ondinki in his filthy rags staring out at me from the TV saying “Dear Mr and Mrs McDonald, thank you for the three letters you wrote to me. They were delicious.” You’re not going to do anything daggy like sponsor one of theirs for every one of yours are you? It always makes me feel uncomfortable when you go to someone’s house and they’ve got the picture of their sponsored kiddy on the fridge. It’s like a diploma of righteousness, like, “I can beat my wife and kids, because I’ve got some moral credits up from sponsoring that Ugandan kid”. Like Mum says, don’t trust small-breasted women and do-gooders.

Do you realize that if your child (I assume you’re not incubating a pixie) breeds at the same age you have, you’ll be a Grandma at 52, 47 at it’s 21st birthday party. Wow, just imagine being 47 S. When you’re fifty, it’ll be 24. Assuming your baby is a girl, here’s a timeline charting your descent into middle age and decrepitude.

Wheel of Life for S by J

I left my god damn glasses at home today. Couldn’t find ’em, so I’m Captain Squint for the whole day. It’s really irritating, I keep thinking that I see people I recognize in the street, but get up close and realize that they’re the wrong sex or color or something. You know how frustrating it is, you’re a four-eyes yourself. Maybe it’s my glasses that are stopping my love life from reaching the volcanic heights that are its true destiny. You know what they say – “Girls don’t make passes at boys who wear glasses.”

Friday, 10 March 1995  9:55am

I had to sit across from someone sexy on the tram this morning. I hate that. It’s like they know, I know that they know they’re sexy, so I don’t want to bolster their ego further by looking at them, so I have to look out the window for the whole ride, which is kinda inconvenient when it’s raining and the windows are all fogged up. I think that people of above average attractiveness should have to have bad haircuts to compensate and it should be compulsory for ’em to wear brown corduroy trousers too. With a busted zip. it doesn’t take much to please me, just drag everyone down to my level and I’m happy as Larry.

Are you going to get your kiddy (shudder) baptised? It’s your choice and all, but I reckon you oughta leave it up to the kiddy. Personally, I’m quite pleased Mum didn’t get me done, I like being a heathen. I’d kinda feel tainted if I’d been baptized.

Anyway, I’d better go. In closing, just one more piece of advice. Don’t name the tyke Larry. He’ll feel pressured to be happy all the time, and people will mistake him for a born-again Christian. Those fuckers are always happy.

Cheers.

J

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© 2015 Dead Mans Diaries (S)

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