An Open Letter to Fake Babies

By: Emma Martin ‘22



Dear Fake Babies,

Ah… where do I even begin with you guys? I think I speak for the entire student body when I say that it’s been an absolute joy watching you wail your way through the halls, toted by rather frazzled looking high schoolers. Let me tell you, there’s no better alarm clock during my mid-class nap than the noise of your mechanical (and vaguely maniacal) wailing. Granted some may find it annoying, but honestly who can blame them? You are merely voicing the same sentiments all us equally hungry and sleep-deprived kids share, yet we keep to ourselves. We applaud you for your relatability — you fussing infants truly are the definition of “current mood.”

I must ask, though: at any point in your brief lives, have any of you stopped to think about your caretakers? Those kind souls devote so much of their time and energy to appeasing you like that guy that brought you to Homecoming with him (major respect) — and yet, somehow, you are never satisfied. What is it, exactly, that keeps you in a perpetual state of hysteria? Why is it that your expressions are always contorted with contempt for the human race? Is this your intent? To turn our innocent classmates into slaves, forced to bow to your every evil whim?

Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t really want to know.

Also, side note…literally how do you drink your bottles for a straight half an hour? I’ve sat in class listening to you chug the equivalent of three gallons of milk and then resume crying within thirty seconds. Scarily impressive, albeit rather excessive. I mean, I get that it’s your job to teach parenthood responsibilities by showing how overwhelming babies can be, but you’re taking it to the extreme. And in truth, the world is probably better off that way, thus leading me to…

Fake babies, I know I’ve been criticizing and poking good-natured fun at you this whole letter, but I would like to take a moment to sincerely apologize on behalf of some of the mistreatment I’ve seen here. It’s a little disturbing the number of times I’ve witnessed people drop you, toss you in the air, and/or shake you like a Magic 8-Ball. I am so, so sorry you’ve had to endure all that. No wonder you hate our kind. I have to say, I’m pretty concerned for the fate of our future children myself. I guess what I’ve been meaning to say, fake babies, is that you’re alright. You really are. You have your shortcomings like everybody else, but you do make this school a little more interesting. Personally, I think you know exactly what you’re doing when you torture my peers, and you derive some kind of sick pleasure from it. One thing’s for sure: we can only wonder what goes on inside those plastic little heads of yours. You have my fearful admiration and my unadulterated respect.



An observant student


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