Panic sets in, and I mutter, "Thank god I don't have kids," as I dig around for my lost dry cleaning ticket.
The day I watched friends ship their teens off to college, it hit me that being gay isn't a choice for me but a necessity. Every time I open my credit card statement(s), I realize that I can't even afford myself, much less dependents. As I sink into debt and depression, it's 15.9-percent-APR-clear that I have no idea how much it costs even to be me. Let's not add another person.
My kid would have to go to a junior college, because my savings plan consists of me getting excited for the annual Fred Segal 50-percent-off sale. I wonder if I could use miles to upgrade them to an Ivy League school....
Since I regard carbs as abs-hiding fear food, my poor child would end up sitting all alone in the cafeteria eating a lettuce-wrap boloney sandwich, sticking out like last year's Gucci. I can't handle that guilt.
I couldn't bear the eventuality of my kids moving away from my house; I can't even part with all my pleated pants. Like children, they might come back one day.
Sure, I'd love the chance to impart wisdom and hopefully influence a young mind to better our society. But I recently learned the hard way that I can't handle the pressure and responsibility of teaching: I tried to teach my parents how to text. "Do you know that all caps means you're yelling, Mom?" YES.
Now that I'm free to marry, I am not about to shell out one dime for my kid's wedding. Get in line, honey. Do you have any idea how lavish a gay man's wedding gets after fantasizing about that blessed day since... forever? I hope PETA won't get on me about hot-gluing roses to all those doves.
Look, I'd love to have lots of kids; I need help around the house like anyone else. And I demonstrate my capacity for love and sacrifice every time I do a closet purge.
And then there's the whole nature-vs.-nurture argument. Being around me, they run the risk of ending up talking funny. After all, I am from Texas.
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