Wash away

That's the second round of laundry done, so now I'm waiting for the third and hopefully last. I have no idea how clothes washing and drying was ever possible a hundred years ago. My great great great grandmother (or father, seeing he was married to a snobby, rich, terror of a woman) must have had a hard time. I cannot even imagine what all that clothes washing would do to my nails. Or my hands. Oh no, that's not happening, ever. It's amazing how the dirt washes off. I just wish I could wash off a lot of things, not just the dirt. Dirt is easy, other things aren't. Is there a washer big enough to wash away happiness? No, but then nobody but a sadist would want that. But I would really like the government to install a life-size washer ( in extra large of course) to wash away the loneliness that will be going around this Christmas. I've seen it today in one really nice old lady, who, if she had had her way, would probably have abducted me just to have someone to talk to. Another washer installed (not necessarily in extra large) to wipe away abandonment, tears and the why's of little children who are promised that it's always for the best without ever letting them have their say. Little people are small in size (at least next to me), but that doesn't make them stupid. They have their feelings, and no, not every decision taken in their regard is taken for the best. Because the people who take the decisions will be holiday-ing too, and they will be out of office because of a staff party. And where will the little ones be? Cooped up, tired of understanding and resigned to a not very appealing fate. Because they're small, they don't know what's best for them. We adults do, because we think we are oh so clever. We take the decisions, the little ones carry out the sentence. Because we have studied so hard to get degrees. Because giving birth automatically gives a person rights on an otherwise innocent creature. They get the rights, I don't. Because nature made it that way. And nature is not always right, it is up to us to correct it. I have worked ever since I was 13, I have completed every degree and diploma in the book, there is nothing further which I could sit for. I have duly paid my taxes every year. I have never been entitled to a government grant, but that was ok, because I worked my way up. But I have failed in the degree called giving life. The actual physical part of giving life. And that, although a teeny weeny bit sad, is ok too, because somehow I keep believing that it has happened this way for a reason. A reason called "love another child". That is what makes me sad, what makes me want to pull the covers over my head and not think about it. But it's not what I want. Because I have no degree in the something called giving life. I do have multiple qualifications in everything else, but degrees do not make good people either. I just wish that the grown-ups, qualified all about little people would give the small ones a chance. Sometimes they have precocious wisdom which we big people lack because of a lot of things. We've made enough mistakes, perhaps it's time we turned to them and asked them what they'd really love. Oh, and have a just-in-case washer to wash away our mistakes. And while we grown-ups give it our all while making merry during this season, perhaps nature will hear me and maybe throw a couple of lamposts in these peopls' ways so they may walk right into them and jolt their brain. I hope it happens soonest. Or else, pass the microphone to the little ones and let's give a round of applause... to them for being strong enough to bear it.