Earlier I forgot to mention something that happened last night.
I was in my kitchen when I heard my doorbell ring, so I looked to see who was at the door and saw some woman I didn’t recognize holding a clipboard.
I figured it was probably some kind of census thing, but she had a kid with her, so I thought it was possible that it was someone selling something or looking for some kind of sponsorship. Either way I didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so I just stayed quiet and pretended not to be home.
I could tell that before she went away she left something on my front door, so after a while I opened it to check.
It was, in fact, some school census thing, with her number on it telling me to call “even if there’s no one under 20 living at my home.”
So eventually I did.
“Do you have any children living with you?”
“No,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, her voice now considerably less friendly and positively dripping with disdain, “so no kids?”
“Nope!” I said, in the most cheerful voice I could muster.
“Well,” she said, the disdain not at all dried up, “that’s all I needed to know. Thank you for calling.”
I got the distinct impression that I was supposed to feel bad about not having kids, and that my lack thereof made me less worthwhile as a human being – or even a statistical data point.
Oh well.
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