Obvious

I sat at my desk in work, scratching my head quite enthusiastically. I hoped I didn't have some child nursery-associated plague like lice or weevils.

An email pinged in with an urgent flag attached to it. I tried to focus on it but something seemed to be in my eye. I tried blinking like a fiend to get it out.

I had noticed that over the last couple of days I had been blinking a lot. My eyes were itchy and a bit sore. I put it down to being allergic to work. It was the most logical explanation.

Whilst I was blinking like an idiot asking a beautiful girl out on a date, one of my colleagues, BinJuice, passed by and stopped at the sight of me twitching, scratching my scalp and rubbing my eyes.

You alright Boomster?

Yeah,

I twitched.

Just a bit... itchy?

I said as I gave my scalp another scratch.

Ah.

He nodded wisely, like an old Kung Fu master who has just received his underwear back from the laundrette.

I frowned in slight annoyance at his wise nodding.

What do you mean 'Ah?'

It's obvious innit?

I breathed slowly in and counted to ten which I reached far quicker than I thought I would.

Not quite obvious, no. Do tell?

How many wee ones you got now?

Asked BinJuice as if everywhere I threw my sperms, babies sprouted.

I have two.

Ah. Two.

Again, BinJuice nodded. With a smug assurance as if I had confirmed that I used hair-straighteners on my nipple hair.

I frowned with a bit more effort this time.

And that is relevant to me itching and twitching how?

It's the kids innit!

Eh? Are you a mental? The kids? Why would me having children have anything to do with feeling a bit itchy and scratchy eyed?

BinJuice smiled, the smile of a man who has been there and done it. A man who has fought the beef orangutan and won.

When you have kids, it ruins you...

He explained patiently.

The lack of sleep, it creeps up on you, your brain gets slower. The lack of exercise because you can't get to the gym, it makes you weak and a shadow of the man you once were.

I couldn't help but bristle slightly at the mention of gym as if he were rootling about in my dark places and pulling my giblets out for public dissection.

And then, when your brain and body are weakened by the asks of parenthood. The kids go to Nursery, they begin socialising with other kids and start bringing shit home. Contagious nasty shit.

His tone became darker and he looked off into a distance I could not yet see.

Then your wife starts saying it's inconvenient to hide the purple monkey. You become the dogsbody that does the DIY and the gardening and the dishes. All you have left is porn and those stolen moments to yourself late at night when everybody is asleep.

He looked stricken then shook his head.

I looked at him with my best caring Doctor face.

BinJuice... Are you alright?

Hmmph aye, aye. I'm just saying, it's the kids. They ruin you.

He grunted and stomped away, shaking his head back and forth like a water buffalo at a sexy party.

I gave my itchy head another scratch and wondered, if deep down, he was right.