Ambulatory McMansions and Why I Hate Parents

Man, do I want kids! Today, right now, immediately.

At this point, my boyfriend has probably shrieked, switched off his computer, and hightailed it to Mexico. But my other readers can stick around for the real reason:

I want to be an ill-mannered boor who gets in everyone's way. And I want to be self-righteous and complain a lot while I do it. And there are only three ways to get away with that level of obnoxiousness: 1. be a group of scary-looking rowdy teenagers, 2. be famous, 3. have kids. As my teen years are long over, and I'm not famous, option 3 looks like the best bet.

Case in point: this morning, I squished and jostled my way aboard the Metro's Red Line. Just inside the doors, blocking everything in all directions, was the biggest stroller I have ever seen in my entire life. It was a double stroller, but one of those super-expensive, tricked-out models the size of a Volkswagen Golf. It was very Spawn of Hollywood. This stroller could buy and sell us all, and still have cash left over to take itself out for a nice lunch and a little shopping.

Aside from the hulking beast of a conveyance (which did include two kids - I checked), there was a mother, grandmother, and abundant luggage. All, of course, blocking the doors, the aisles, the poles, the entire transportation system of Greater Washington. I bet the stroller was blocking traffic as far back as the Mixing Bowl. Suited-up commuters squeezed past, or squashed themselves into yoga-esque positions while the mother and grandmother cluelessly complained about how crowded the train was, and that people kept jostling them. They were very surprised that the train was so busy, they didn't know "when Washington got so popular." They also worriedly back-and-forthed about how their precious angels were becoming anxious because of all the crowding.

Hello, ladies? I know the thrill of genetic continuity and space-age baby gadgetry is a beautiful thing. But are you so blinded by your own importance that you don't realize that 8:45 is rush hour? As in, not kiddie time. As in, not the time to reconstruct an ambulatory version of your McMansion-Ford Excursion-grande latte exurb lifestyle. You clearly own everything else in the world, did you forget to purchase a watch? Would it have killed you to wait an extra fifteen minutes?

I get that yes, people with kids will occasionally cross paths with the rest of us. Fine. But not during rush hour. And if you must join us for rush hour, don't bring a stroller the size of a pony. And if you must bring a stroller the size of a pony, don't bring luggage as well. Oh, fine. Bring the pony and the luggage. Just don't have the gall to moan on about it, when the crowding is actually your own fault because you're taking up half the train.

So I want kids, so I can be a jerk and get in everyone's way. Is that so wrong?