I wrote this almost a decade ago, when my friends’ children were mostly very small and my friends themselves had not yet tired of them. The first few babies are a rough period in the evolution of any social grouping, and to preserve our structure a secret society was formed, the No Baby Talk Club. 

I share the manifesto of our secret society with you now, in the hopes of preserving your relationships, sanity, and social structure.


I love children. I especially love my friends’ children. There are even a dozen or so related to me by blood or honor that I love as if they were my own.


One becomes tired of listening to talk about children. One becomes especially tired of listening to talk about nothing but children. One becomes double-especially tired of being boxed out when trying to talk about anything else. Personally, I am triple-especially tired of the following topics:

  •  Poop
  •  “Enrichment”
  •  Other people’s parenting. (It’s bad.)
  •  How my evening is wrapping at 9 p.m. because “someone” is ready for bed. (I hate this one. I’m left with the social and BAC-level equivalent of .)é>
  •  Music. Dear Sweet Lord God Jesus in Heaven Above, I am tired of hearing about their music.
  •  How different life becomes when you have reproduced. 

I’m sure it is. I’m sure it’s great. Might even do it myself someday. But right now, people I like are ruining my free time with babyvangelism.

And I have had enough.

So. You, reader, are on The List. You have been identified through a selection process more elaborate than the one for USA Basketball and Skull & Bones put together. You have made the cut. 

Let me note that The List has been put together on the down-low. Parents are often oversensitive people, as they lack both sleep and a sense of proportion. Thus, to borrow, the first rule of No Baby Talk Club is that you do not talk about No Baby Talk Club. 

No one will know any of us were ever there not talking about them. They will be free to monopolize all other discussions, secure in the knowledge that we would never dare discuss career advancement, food you don’t have to unwrap, and the relative merits of vs. without them there to interrupt and filibuster with fine long tales of The Day We Lost Tigger At The Zoo.é>é>

We are going out without them. Dinner and entertainment and some drinks and conversation.

If all goes according to plan — and it will, because no one will it up with an accident or a temperature en route — the conclave will meet regularly.

Eligibility: You may not have a child. You may be with child, and you may be attempting child-withness. If you are either of those, God bless and all the best – but still, I bet you’re tired of being lectured on what an obstetrician you don’t and won’t know might think of what you’re eating. So c’mon out. You’re eligible right up until they’re a separate line-item on your taxes.


1. No not drinking. 

2. No calling it a night before 1 a.m. 

3. No replacing foul language with letters and nonsensical expressions. 

4. No going anywhere with an animatronic jug band revue. 

5. No climbing the back fence, putting on a false mustache and hiding in a hollow tree to smoke. 

6. No meetings held at someone’s house because “it’s just easier.”

7. No regaling us with tales of 95th-percentile cuteness. 

8. No Elmo. If I hear the word Elmo, it better be because you’re telling a shamefully filthy joke about him.

Suggested topics of conversation: Money. Sex. Careers. Current events. . Fantasy baseball. Cleavage. Music. . Gambling. Us Weekly. Food not eaten from a tube. . How much you hate feigning joy at having mucus dripped on you. Wedding planning. . Really, anything that’s bad for little ears is good with me.,>

Speak of this to no one. See you Friday.

the Wiggles,

El Adulto Enmascarado