i am shit with babies

These two women got on the bus cradling their babies like sacks of sand and then sat right in front of me even though I was sure I had an expression that suggested I was a dead, dusty statue that should be avoided at all times. It was fine, they began to burble away in the joy filled inflection that new mothers have, discussing the new Jodi Picoult book or Cath Kidson flannels, all the time their unsure little monsters were climbing around the bus like deranged monkeys in a metal zoo. I was reading a book called Kill Your Friends by John Niven, I raised the book cover.

After a thirty minute journey the two babies suddenly gravitated to the front of my seat and both mothers held their tormented loin spawn up for me to look at at, one of them saying “she likes men” talking about the dribbling flesh doll who was looking at me with fear and bedazzlement. So I had to perform. All I could think about was… how I wished I had a antique saucepan that I could smash myself in the face with like a clown and surely they’d find that funny. Surely. I thought about pushing my face into the bus window and making it all squidgy. I thought about taking a bite out of the apple I was eating then pranging it straight into my eye causing instant discomfort and an accompanying comical expression. I thought about pulling the emergency cord.

In the end I shook one of the babies hands.

Bob Rock