Bathroom Monologue: It’s its own form of love

"Audition nannies immediately. I’ve given it three months and I simply don’t love them, Claris. I don’t have the maternal instinct. They’re loud, smelly, demanding things. Fortunately I’ve got the one thing they need more than a mother’s love: money. And along with all the things I’m going to make sure they never go without, I’m buying them that love. Select nannies from pools of barren women, ones who are willing to live in and answer at all hours. Wet nurses as well as ones who will sign twenty-year contracts to look after them into college. Financially and emotionally vulnerable women who will love them as much as I should. Then audition them with the kids. I won’t have some needy bitch who doesn’t “click” with the babies. With my babies. I should love them, but putting this roof over their heads, feeding them, and ensuring someone does care for them until they’re on their own will have to be enough. It’s its own form of love, I suppose."