2004-01-06

The second in my series of �I Don�t Wanna Grow Up� lists: Things Grown-Ups are Supposed to Like, But I Still Don�t

1. Asparagus and Brussels sprouts. The childhood scourge of Christmas dinner! These were the fiber-packed penance that had to be endured before the beatific consumption of turkey: the culinary equivalent of a hair shirt, if you will, and about as appetizing. I never understood why the adults partook of these wretched dishes with such apparent relish, and I still don�t. They taste like grass and feet, respectively.

2. Coffee. Although I do enjoy a soymilk latte from time to time, provided it�s filled with enough sugar to cause spontaneous crystallization, plain, regular coffee is yuck, and it hurts my tummy. I remember the first time my mom let me have a small cup of coffee. I took a sip and regarded her suspiciously: obviously somebody was having me on. Why would anyone deliberately consume an acrid beverage that tastes like boiled dirt? My mystification remains.

3. Hard liquor. Quit laughing, I�m serious! Don�t get me wrong � I enjoy liquor very much for its functional applications, but the actual consumption of alcohol for me is a means to an end. I like beer OK, though I don�t crave the taste of it, but hard alcohol tastes like what it literally is: fucking POISON. I still make a seizure face when I have a sip of scotch, and my drinks of choice in the misty dollar-highball days of my wasted youth were vodka slimes � a syrupy combination of vodka, Seven Up and lime juice, selected specifically for their minimally alcoholic flavour. Friends still insist that I could �develop a taste� for things like cognac, but this process, unless I�m mistaken, would entail a lot of me putting something in my mouth that tastes like it�s already been and gone, if you catch my drift; and that is stupid. Bring me a Boddington�s. (No wine coolers, though � I may dislike the taste of alcohol, but not to the point where I�ll drink fucking hummingbird food.)

4. Marriage. Kicking it up a notch from ingestibles, I still don�t quite see the point. The whole �in love� bit, and the desire to shack up indefinitely, I can accept in theory, but the ceremonial part of the equation is completely insane. You�d have to put a gun to my head to get me into a white dress with ruffles, for starters, and you�d have to jam my ass with a cattle prod to get me to shuffle down the aisle on display in front of a bunch of distant relatives. Also, do not drop several thousand dollars for a small piece of jewelry, because that is retarded. Want to be romantic? Buy me a car.

5. Children. Hardly an original sentiment, I know, and probably not much of a surprise to you. What I want to know is this: when will people actually believe that I don�t want children? I can still recall the very day I decided to remain barren: I was about twelve years old, and it suddenly dawned on me that having kids was not a requisite part of growing up. I guess up until then I�d assumed that when you hit twenty-five you were summarily issued a spouse and a set of offspring and packed off to PTA boot camp. It was a weight off my mind to realize that diaper-changing was not on life�s list of inevitabilities along with death and taxes. However, thirteen years later, I still get the �Oh, you could change your mind� speech when I express my preference. What is the cut-off age for this biological-clock lobotomy? Thirty-five? Forty-five? Sixty? Whatever it is, I�d like to get there already so I could rant irrationally about strollers on the bus in peace.