I'm at my parents for a incredibly short holiday that I want to use to finish the insulation in my attic.
If I'd known there'd be children here, I'd have chosen another time to visit.
The children are the niece and nephews of sister1's stupid boyfriend to be exact. They are camping in the garden. And they are doing children-things. Playing and shouting.
Now, I don't think I've mentioned it lately here, but I do not like children. At all.
I've worked with them during holiday programs (I tried to make them think of "Go to Alex" as a punishment. Didn't work.) and I don't mind people talking about them. But I don't like them.
I get it from my mother I think. She still doesn't like them even though she ended up with three of her own. Don't ask how not liking children, not even your own, and being a good parent works, but it does.
She fears the day one of us *cough*sister1*cough* might present her with grandchildren.
At the moment we are walking around, occasionally telling each other: "There are children here." "Yes, I know. It's scary. But they'll be gone come Sunday evening" "Why are there children here? Did I mention I don't like children?" "Yes. I don't either. And I don't know why."
In other news, I did one of the things that are needed to make life complete: I posted a pic of my boobs on the internet. (For a good cause but still, chances of it being picked up by a crawler and haunting me forever? Are pretty good I'd say. Good thing I don't mind being haunted.)