Have I ever mentioned that I’m a pedophobe? Those little buggers freak me out. Anatomically, they look like miniature adults. Mentally, however, they’re not even close. They can run around, hit their head on a desk, cry about it – and then do the exact same thing five minutes later! There is no spark of reason, no sentience or sapience (or whatever you want to call it) until they’re seven, or 10, or never, in some particularly bad cases. That scares the hell out of me – those tiny humans who behave so unhumanlike, all action and no reason. And before you ask – yes, I used to be a kid myself; no, I don’t relish the experience.

This is only one out of many reasons why I choose to be child-free. If, due to some bizarre development, I decide I want to have children after all, I’ll just host a high school exchange student from another country. I figure living with a teenager for several months should cure me of any and all obsession with having kids.

(Another reason is the fact that I grew up next to a malfunctioning nuclear power plant. My DNA has more glitches than the beta version of Windows-95, which makes procreation a spectacularly bad idea.)