Vox, I want a pin

• Outsource the Carnival
• Deliver us, Lord, from the parental pin
• Mom, why does dad call you 'thighs'?

This will generate enmity for me. I'm going to be more alone than one and I am aware that my friends, my neighbors and, of course, all the members and all the members of my children's school will stop talking to me, a nursery of podemites without any dissimulation.

I want a pin of those to censor. A large, colorful one, which has flashing LEDs, such as dangerous curve signals in a national one. But I don't want it for my creatures, but for a servant. The teachers would see it on my lapel and exempt me from the hundreds of browns in which they involve me.

Let us begin. I do not want to prepare costumes . Neither of carnival, nor of Christmas (or solstice or Roman saturnals or whatever ), nor of end of course. Not. That I already quote, I have a job and a dishwasher to pick up.

I do not want to accompany the excursions to give logistic support to the teachers. That is, for as many children to come as they left. Not. That I prefer to clean the toilets of an after rather than go with 25 humans to the Book Fair, or to the park to see the cranes (as if I knew what that is). Not. That I already quote, I have a job and a dishwasher to pick up.

I do not want to participate in bug workshops, or go to talk about my profession to children, I will not tell them the truth and decide to train as butroneros or something worse. Nor do I want to teach them to plant lettuce in the garden , as if I were Greta, that we must see what mania has entered all schools with that of agriculture and the primary sector. I buy them in Mercadona, in bags, probably without vitamins, wash and cut, like everyone who quotes, who has a job and a dishwasher to collect.

I also do not want to sell a lottery to cover any trip, which is not me Doña Manolita, or chase all potential buyers with a block of ballots at 5 euros per unit. In December people fled me, as if I were a leper , and they gave me a corner as soon as I appeared with the blissful shares. No, I do not devote myself to gambling, now so badly seen, because I already quote, I have a job and a dishwasher to pick up.

And the homework? Do I open the melon, fathers and mothers of whole Spain? Come on, no hot cloths. One day are the rivers and tributaries; another, a Power Point with more slides than the General Shareholders Meeting of Banco Santander; and another, a diplodocus with papier-mâché on a natural scale. Does anyone really believe that children alone do? The parents, after working, quoting and picking up the dishwasher of the devil, we take out the tempera, the gum eva and the glue, know already once. And the same thing we went to bed at dawn, as if we were bingueros, trying that the resulting device was not the worst in the class.

Even though I am very badly saying it, what I want is to deposit my creatures at 9.30 at school and pick them up in the afternoon safe and sound . That they teach them things, like the four basic operations, such as peace in the world, like not sticking, like not saying "next to you" ... I also want them to come with all the vital organs with which they left, that they bring the pants with a hole instead of two, that they brush their teeth after eating ... That is, a little background and a little shape. And you stop counting.

The last of the last has happened this week. Now the oldest (12 years old) is entangled in sexuality workshops. Right. Phenomenal. Green light. They have my blessing to impart the whole agenda, that is, respect, body, accessories, girls and boys (and all the possibilities offered by the combinatorics), crotches, onanism (in the very distant future), "It's not no," hormones and blablabla. I have no vetoes or red lines. But don't question me, that I already quote, I have a job and a dishwasher to pick up.

Well, there has been no way: my heir brought the task of asking the spouse and me, so, while we had dinner on a Tuesday, light questions like where the clitoris is, what are the erections and what is a pollution. Tepito: during dinner, on a Tuesday, of sopetón. What worries the upbringing has.

Suddenly a thick wind ran and I had a cough and a lot of heat and sweat and trembling my legs. I invented a sudden tiredness, a virulent allergy, a deadly choking, an acute headache, but it didn't help. I had to face that vertigo like a bullfighter his Miura, and I left the burladero with more fear than shame.

I took out my cell phone (blessed be the Wi-Fi and the bandwidth and all Silicon Valley with its Palo Alto and its everything) and turned to Google Images. Knowing the tremendous results that the algorithm could return, I filtered with an aseptic "female genitals drawing" . I pressed intro and entrusted myself to all the saints. What a bad time we had.

Therefore, they do not pretend to me anymore. Gentlemen of Vox, do you have a pin for parents? I want one. And urgent.

According to the criteria of The Trust Project

• Vox
• Mercadona
• book Fair
• Spain

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