Gråtende sigøynerelg i solnedgang

Dette innlegget er inspirert av MillaVanilla’s siste innlegg. Her
Jeg hører også til 'mindretallet' som ikke vil ha barn. Og da mener jeg aldri. Som i IKKE FAEN!

Jeg har alltid følt det på den måten.
Da jeg var i den alderen hvor alle venninnene mine satt barnevakt, gikk jeg tur med andre folks bikkjer i steden. Og følelsen har ikke avtatt med årene, snarere tvert i mot. Mulig jeg er født uten biologisk klokke, for jeg har vitterlig aldri hørt noen tikking.

Noensinne hørt kommentaren 'men du vil ikke føle deg fullkommen som kvinne hvis du ikke får barn'?

Herregud…

Kan ikke folk akseptere og framfor alt respektere at ikke alle føler trangen til å reprodusere? (Hihi, der hørtes jeg ut som Gorgon Vaktmester... akseptere, respektere, reprodusere, sjikanere, kritisere, manipulere...)

Jeg mener, spør jeg folk som har barn hvorfor i all verden de har valgt å få dem? Nix. Så hvorfor er det fullt ut akseptert å mase livet av meg som har valgt annerledes?
Som Milla sier, er det rart at man drikker? ;-)

Og jeg vet det nok. Bak alle ufine bemerkinger om mitt valg ligger det sjalusi. Sjalusi fordi jeg er fri til å gjøre hva jeg vil, NÅR jeg vil.

Langbein

I had been dating this guy for a couple of weeks. He was a tall bugger even if you were above the average height for women… which I’m not.
Kissing him out the door, which was as far as we’d gotten to in our brief courtship, always worked best if I was standing on the stairs about 3 steps above him. Otherwise I’d be looking at the last button of his shirt and he’d be smacking his lips at the air above my head.
He was also dark and handsome, a gentleman and seemed to enjoy many of the things I do.

Anyway, men who has a way of making love to my ever curious brain has a vast advantage over others, regardless of how good they look. Thus I confess I have to 'test' them once they get a bit interesting.

But be patient with me, I have to tell you a little bit about myself first.

I’ve been a petrolhead all of my life. Sometimes I blame it on growing up in the sidecar of a Harley Davidson, sometimes not.
At my advanced age, (which is somewhere between the late 30’s and menopause in case you were curious) I should be taking an avid interest in homemaking, babies, knitting, cooking, and everything else my fellow females seem to be burning for.

Instead I shamelessly hoon around in my car, (which is a 2 seat sports car, a convertible that I've had a love affair with for nearly 4 years now… more about my car another time) play games on my Xbox360 (I was really surprised when Oblivion stole the little that was left of my social life… I’m more of a FPS type…) and can generally be found near the Warbird hangar at the airport, wishing I could afford to keep my pilots licence. So I suppose that makes me a bit of a tomboy, even though I don't look very masculine at all.
But I digress. Back to Langbein.
As you might have figured out, he interested me, so I took him on the 'test'.
Which is not that big a deal, really. If a man can handle a woman skillfully hauling her car around corners at breakneck speed… and still feel their manhood unthreatened, weeehey… we’ve got a winner!

I never saw Langbein again. Even though he did pass the 'test'.

I made the grave mistake of laughing at him. I couldn't help it. It was how he looked with half his head sticking up above my windscreen, his ears and chin flapping in the wind like a dog's in an open car window. If I'd had the roof on, he would have looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame. I still snicker when I think about it, but he obviously didn't have an ounce of self irony

Bye bye Goofy, may you one day find a deserving woman with a bigger car ;-)