The title of James Felton’s recent article in IFLScience caught my eye: “Psychology Study Reveals Trick For Appearing More Likeable In Social Situations.” It was written in response to another article in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology—but, before reading a word of it, I suggested a question.
“Why would anyone assume that an unlikeable person would want to appear likable to others?”
Those of you who are familiar with Dr Sanscravat (my fictional alter ego) probably already recognize his curmudgeonly tone. I like writing in his voice because it allows me to voice anti-social opinions that would brand me persona non grata in real life. Besides, writing about unlikable people, villains, and similar anti-social types is much more enjoyable than writing about any goody-goody-two-shoes.
The less-than-goody-goody “doctor” gives zero F***s about the opinions of others.
The example, below, is extracted from The Digressions of Dr Sanscravat: Gastronomical Ramblings & Other Diversions, a book that allowed me to interact as editor—to provide a bit of civil counterpoint to Dr Sanscravat’s overwhelming negativity.
If, as seems likely, you are not like Sanscravat (I certainly hope you are not)—and actually care about being perceived as likable—don’t read any further (follow, instead, the link to the Felton article, above).
On Children
Editor’s Note: Some imprudent individual has encouraged Dr Sanscravat to wax philosophical (or what passes for “philosophical” in his mind) on the subject of his relations with immature members of his species. Whenever the good “Dr” decides to share an opinion on some subject that is troubling him, we suspect that he does it merely to rid himself of the offending thought. Which only means that his readers are then stuck with it. This is one of those occasions.
I cannot bear children. Being male, that is patently obvious. Perhaps I should rephrase: “I cannot stand children.”
Human offspring are loud, smelly, sociopathic, self-centered monsters. If someone must exhibit those qualities, I prefer to do so myself. Besides, they are overwhelmingly energetic, persistent, and tactile to a fault. Alas, those are some of their positive attributes.
Somewhat positive.
Go into any hovel inhabited by such creatures and you’ll find that every horizontal surface is sticky, covered in substances that are best left unidentified. I shudder to think of touching anything reachable by these uncivilized beasts.
Worse, they feel an unrequited urge to touch—even hug—those of us who, Bartleby-like, “would prefer not to.” Once they learn about my aversion to touching, they feel duty-bound to inflict their attentions upon me. I’m tempted to smack the bejeezus out of them—at least when their parents aren’t looking—for nothing else seems to discourage their efforts.
Frankly, there is but one all-too brief period when I can tolerate the little brutes: from the time they become old enough to cease spraying me with their milky vomit, to the dreadful day when they lose their fear of me. I know of no other respite from their unwanted attentions.
Some fifty years ago, a friend summarized his feelings on one aspect of the subject, “Children should be sent away somewhere until they reach the age of fifteen or so, when they are capable of carrying on a decent conversation.” He was a scholar, now deceased, so—in the spirit of de mortuis nihil nisi bonum, I can almost forgive his excessive and unwarranted optimism.
Almost.
Editor’s Note: Methinks that Sanscravat doth protest too much. It’s possible that he actually enjoys the attentions of the little ones.
Then again, maybe not.
I’m often asked how I can hate children. It is, of course, the wrong question—or rather, it is a question based on faulty premises.
First, lingering under that seemingly simple question’s surface is the implicit, and somewhat smarmy, assumption that it’s somehow wrong to dislike the snotty-nosed, sticky-fingered, self-absorbed little cretins.
Second, I don’t actually hate them—but I sure as hell don’t trust them.
They weasel their way into our lives with feigned cuteness, and stay there by immediately recognizing and manipulating our weaknesses. If our species really deserved to be called sapiens, we would never succumb to the puerile scams of its offspring.
If needed, I can provide reams of evidence that reveal their nefariousness and their unbridled duplicity, not to mention their overweening—and under-weaned—ids. I will, however, cite but a single example, albeit one that had a profound impact upon the development of my opinions on the subject.
Some fifty years ago, I agreed to baby-sit for the five-year-old son of some friends, while they—no doubt—exercised a better option. I am well-known for my generous and caring nature, so of course I wished to entertain the tiny human, and perhaps stimulate his nascent neurons. In the spirit of bonhomie, I taught him to play chess.
The little bastard took my queen.
Editor’s Note: Sanscravat has cruel side—what he might call “a mean streak”—that is most apparent in his application of corporal punishment. “Capital punishment” might better describe his method—which can bore his listeners to the extent that they long for a merciful death.
The approved method of child abuse in our house has always been the extended lecture on geological subjects. Not only does it spare the rod for some other purpose (possibly fishing), there are no screams to attract the attention of inquisitive neighbors. The rolled eyeballs and pathetic whimpers of the punishees are, you can be sure, more satisfying to the punisher than any stick.
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Sir,
I followed the link and have gained valuable insight. I learned that my likability quotient(sometimes) on first meeting may be what ultimately does me in - makes for bigger disappointment down the road ( sigh)
I did, of course, also read the Doctor’s exposition regarding children. Phooey!