I have never been a fan of obnoxious children.

I am even less of a fan of children who, our of sheer boredom, hover at the corner of my desk screaming like a teakettle. I am also not a fan of parents who allow this to happen. I really do not understand how they expect me to explain the terms of a contract over the insolent wailing of a two-year old.

I waited and strained my voice trying to talk over the tyke for about--three minutes. But, that wasn't enough. Terminator Child started running around the edge of my office, hurling papers, pens and any free moving objects his demonic hands could grasp.

After the fifth attempt to explain a certain product and the fifth interruption of a ear-piercing war cry, I scooped the child up, plunked him in my lap and proceeded to finish with the parents in relative peace.

Well. There was the bit where he pretended he was a monkey and was hanging off my neck, crushing my windpipe and inhibiting my ability to properly speak. But other than that, he was quite tame. Quite good. And quite quiet.

To say the least, his parents were flabbergasted. Amazed that their Terminator Child could actually, gasp, behave! Of course, thinking they would pay me the ultimate compliment they kindly told me:

"Your so great with kids. You will be a great mother. When are you getting married and having some of your own?!"


When the little brats come with return receipts, that's when.