I Like Nice Things

Yesterday my mother, Max and I went shopping for a new human being. Apparently my cousin's lady companion had her baby three days ago so my mother wanted us to buy her a gift. I feel like babies' gifts should be welcome-to-the-world survival kits with clothes, rations, toiletries, a small knife and flint, pretty much anything you need to survive. My mentality for buying practical gifts is, "Will this help Tom Hanks on the island after the plane crashes?" We ended up buying tiny, new-human-sized clothes and socks for baby Tom Hanks. She will be well equipped for this coming winter unless she balloons to Da Vinci Code-sized Tom Hanks.

While browsing the baby section at Target, I realized that I really wanted all of these products. The onesies, the padded cribs, super-soft blankets, and butter-yellow apparel beyond my wildest dreams. Do I have "baby fever?" Have I reached that age where I want to settle down and start a family? FUCK NO! I want all this shit for myself! Why would I buy all these things for a baby? What have babies ever done for me? I need these things to better my life. I propose that the baby section be renamed the Luxury Goods section and have everything made in adult sizes because this stuff is too nice for children.

I saw so many things that I needed just as much, if not more, than a baby does. I found a tiny pair of crocheted socks that were so soft, I imagined wearing them would be like walking on air. Why the hell do they think adults don't want these? My feet are all mangled and crumbling to pieces from stomping around in these stripper heels. I need crocheted socks! Babies can't appreciate luxury socks that feel like you're walking on air because those fools can't even walk yet. I also sampled the bumper pads that are supposed to go around the bed to prevent those clumsy oafs from bumping their heads. Clearly, these should be a safety standard for all citizens, like the airbag or seatbelt. I don't know how many times I've bumped my head against the wall, the bed, or other furniture. One time I even shut the car door on my own head. Where was my padded bumper then? Some dribbly baby was using it while I got my head smashed by my Acura Legend! I took a hit for that baby, and I didn't even get a thank you.

I am also disappointed that I can't purchase an adult-sized pram, or as I like to call it, a Luxury Wheelchair. I could be tired from a long day at the office or injured from a nasty tumble due to my penchant for bargain stripper heels. Either way, it would be nice to lay in a softly padded Luxury Wheelchair while someone pushes me around. I don't like the sun or bright lightbulbs so the ones with the pop-up hood would be mandatory for me. I would also like one with the big sturdy wheels so my designated Luxury Wheelchair driver and I can do some sweet jumps. While I'm injured, it would also be nice to go home to a nursing chair, or shall we say, a Luxury Recliner. I almost rocked myself to sleep sitting on that display chair. The smooth forward and back motion reminded me of the log ride at the carnival and soon I was in a blissfully calm state dreaming of smoked turkey legs.

I've been an adult for a few months now, and it would be a hell of a lot nicer if I could upgrade these amenities. I don't want to drink coffee, listen to podcasts, worry about my metabolism, and talk about taxes. I'm not asking for much. I just want to go to bed without fear of my head smashing a hole in the wall. Excuse me for being excited about bedtime! I want to wake up and swat at various dangling objects that hang overhead while soft music plays. I want my padded Luxury Wheelchair with the pop-up hood and all-terrain wheels with Hugh Jackman pulling me across short distances. Most of all, I want to wear a butter yellow onesie, sit in my Luxury Recliner and think "Yes, I am a baby Tom Hanks."