Being Baby-less in Peru

Babies are like giraffes. Giraffes are really cool. I like giraffes a lot, actually. Giraffes are great when they’re in acceptable public spaces. Giraffes can even be fine at parties, as long as it’s a safe, open space where there’s room for a giraffe to do giraffe things. Giraffes are so cool that I completely understand why someone would want to go to the trouble of owning a giraffe. I mean, it probably takes an insane amount of work. You need giraffe food, you need giraffe doctors, the giraffes probably get into shit they shouldn’t, but through it all, I bet giraffe owners feel like the fuss is worth it. Giraffe ownership must be a really fulfilling endeavor.

Sometimes though, giraffe owners like giraffes SO MUCH that they aggressively insist that I need a giraffe too. I get that giraffe owners are really passionate about these weird creatures, and I can even empathize with why they feel that way, but surely owning a giraffe isn’t for everybody. It’s such a bizarre thing to insist on.

Just enjoy your own giraffe, man. Quit making our conversation weird. I don’t need one.

Pre-26 years old, I was living in Peru. It was fairly easy to dodge probing questions because people just assumed I was waiting, and that was acceptable. Modern women are allowed to wait now. Through 26 years old, I lived in the States. where I spent almost all my time exclusively with super close friends who know better than to push their exotic animal preferences on other people.

At 27 years old, I’m back in Peru. And apparently I’m pushing the envelope.

I take several classes at the local Barranco public gym. The other attendees have zero qualms about asking pointblank about my giraffe status. Now, I don’t mind people asking if I have one. But the thing is, the immediate and unabashed follow up (after hearing that I don’t) is to ask how old I am. And it looks like 27 is past the mark. Time is running out! I need to get a giraffe NOW. I got a full blown lecture one day before aerobics about the futility of giraffe-less life. Reactions have ranged from surprise to horror. Somebody asked in astonishment what I do all day.

Admittedly, the crowd at the public gym can sometimes lack subtlety. But based on my friends’ accounts, this kind of pressuring isn’t exactly exclusive to the workout class attendees in Barranco.

And yeah, it’s true. I don’t want to be the asshat who shows up to the menagerie empty handed. That said, I like to think that all the space freed up in my life by the absence of a giraffe has opened up room for something equally cool. Several zebras? A moderately sized elephant? The point is, I just don’t understand why people are obsessing over an absent giraffe when I’ve got a troop of fourteen awesome lemurs in tow.

In short, no, I don’t have a giraffe. But we can totally talk about yours, and I’d love to tell you some of the crazy crap my lemurs have pulled.


Didn’t have any photos of giraffes, lemurs, or babies, so here’s a doodle of a lemur sitting on a giraffe’s head.


3 thoughts on “Being Baby-less in Peru

  1. “…where I spent almost all my time exclusively with super close friends who know better than to push their exotic animal preferences on other people.” LOL

    Also, I love your doodle 😀

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