My biological clock has no alarm.

Last weekend was spent with immediate and extended family, as my folks decided to have a "holiday" party ("holiday" meaning "Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Years", 'tho my sister and I also added in "Hey – Dad had a heart attack but looks like he'll be here for the Superbowl anyway so raise a glass").

My parents' home is in no way child-proof … not even a little bit. There are cactus plants at knee level, all kinds of unprotected electrical sockets, cords to pull on, etc. This makes sense because they never figured they'd be grandparents. There was some hope for a time, provided by yours truly, but that was THEIR dream, *not* mine. I've always … ALWAYS … known that I wouldn't have kids, and the reason is simple – I don't "get" them. I can't relate to them on any level … until they're about 12 or so anyway.

Don't get me wrong … infants are cute but … well … they're kinda … slimy. I'm NOT into "slimy". It's why I wear gloves when I work with jams or seperate eggs … too slimy. It's why I've always only tolerated my sisters' choice of canine companion … bull dogs and bull mastiffs are, by nature, slimy. She accepts this as part of the animal, whereas I would just chose a different breed.

Toddlers are also a mystery to me. Their dramatic mood-swings, outright LYING to your face, always thinking of themselves … rather reminds me of myself in the 80s.

Oh, and I know I know … YOUR kids are different. Uh huh. Suuuuuuuuure they are.

I like visiting other folks who have kids … like my oldest closest friend Karin. She has two daughters, both now in school and, while the youngest is still somewhat of an enigma to me, the oldest I totally get. She's a brat. She's selfish and needy. She doesn't just play "princess", she fully believes she IS one and the rest of us commoners were created solely to serve HER needs. Karin and I laugh when she gets like this… which sends said child into a funk, stomping off to her bedroom alone to go and sulk, giving us time to catch up sans children which, honestly, is what we wanted anyway. It's a perfect arrangement.

I had a ball visiting with my friend Scott over the summer. His youngest kids are the perfect age for me – they have ideas and great senses of humor and ya' can tell they're gonna be really great grown-ups. They're VERY well-mannered, like to play games, and actually seem to get along with one another. In short, I can talk to them like I talk to *every* child – as an adult – and they'll respond in kind, without trying to BE you.

My family still thinks I'll change my mind on my whole "child embargo", I guess. I mean, my sister was 40 when she had her first kid … so I suppose the logic is that I'm hearing my body clock, too. So when my cousin and I were sitting with my mom, who had her youngest grandchild on her lap, I noticed that the child was … oozing. It was just flat-out ugly. Her whole face was shiny. My cousin saw me wince and said "Well, take care of it, Auntie" and I said "Sure thing. Here ya' go, Grandma" and handed my mom a Kleenex.

What?!? I mean - come on. That's just ... nasty.