Okay, here's a scenario for you: Let's say you make a new friend. We'll call him Ted. Ted just got out of jail -- for a crime he did not commit, he assures you -- and he has a great idea for a magazine specifically marketed to America's fastest growing segment of the population, the imprisoned. Now, in order to better facilitate a close working relationship, Ted comes to live with you.

However, Ted does not pay rent, but since he only takes up a portion of your living space, the intrusion seems minimal. Still, technically, Ted should really be paying half your rent and utilities. It's a decent place, so let's say Ted's share would be about $500. Additionally, since you're just starting up and he's got no other income, you have to pay for food as well. Ted can really put the food away, and on top of that, he has dietary restrictions. So you're coughing up an extra $250 a month just for Ted. But you like the guy, and you think he shows promise, so you willingly foot the bill.

Ted wants to borrow your clothes, too, since his only outfit he owns is a powder-blue tux he stole off of one of his victims. Mostly you give him your second-hand stuff, except the odd special occasion when you cough up funds to buy a nice outfit. Once he moves in, however, you discover that Ted has a terrible problem with incontinence, and needs -- putting it politely -- special undergarments. He also needs assistance changing them, due to an injury sustained in prison that affects his hand-eye coordination. (He can do it himself, but it gets messy.) Not counting the cost of counseling to deal with the resulting nightmares and mental anguish, this all costs you about $80 each month. Ted also needs physical therapy for his injury, for which you "borrow him" (as he puts it) another $80 a month. You give him the money gladly in the hope that it will spell the end of your part in his Depends changes.

Ted's got no car, and is legally barred from driving as a result of his conviction, so you help him out. The gas and insurance for your Lexus SUV runs you about 200 bucks a month on average, just for Ted's portion of the transportation mind you. Ted needs to go to lots of biker bars and casinos to do "research" for the magazine. Because it's for work, you tolerate it, and even make lots of new friends along the way, many of whom assure you that they would break your arms if they caught you looking at their woman, but cut you slack because you're nice to Ted.

Ted never learned to read, which could be a real hinderance to an aspiring magazine publisher, so you spot him $125 each month for a private tuitor (who, not unremarkably, you have to drive him to every day). On top of that, Ted needs some pocket cash to pay for cigarettes and porn, so you give him an allowance of 40 bucks a week. He continually presses you for a raise, but you resist, so Ted occasionally hocks parts of your expensive home theater system. Still, the magazine seems to be taking shape, so you silently tolerate this.

So you don't feel like a total doormat, you assign Ted some chores. He sets the table, does his laundry, and brutally assaults the neighbor who keeps dumping his leaves on your lawn.

Unfortunately, years pass, and your expenditures on Ted's behalf actually rise, while the magazine never actually comes to fruitition. Business venture capitalists continually reject your proposal because of your and Ted's lack of experience in publishing, the inability of the target market to pay with anything except cigarettes and cell-brewed moonshine, and Ted's repeated insistance that these potential investors respect him or he would "hoe check" them.

You ponder kicking Ted out, but even the mere suggestion sends him into a rage, so you continue paying his way through life. Ted is impatient, irresponsible and disrespectful. He interferes with your ability to have a social life and he rarely cleans up after himself. Your dog disappears under mysterious circumstances after a fight with Ted over "aiming" in the bathroom. The final straw comes when he throws a kegger for all his friends while you're away on business, earning money to put food for both you and him on the table I might add, and nearly burns the house down. "Enough is enough," you say, and file a restraining order against Ted.

Not wanting to violate parole and go back to the Big House, Ted agrees to move out and not kill you, but only if you send him to Harvard. This sets you back about $40k a year, but you do so gladly, if it means that someone else will have to deal with Ted from now on.

All told, it's nearly two decades later and what has this Ted mess gotten you? A quick calculation reveals that Ted's little stay ran you about $641,000. Not to mention your social life and nerves in tatters, your home likely ruined and you've lost twenty years you'll never get back. But this is all hypothetical, right? What does this have to do with anything?

Good question. As you may have guessed, it turns out those figures are about the current going rate for raising a single child. And most people wind up having more than one of those little Teds. (My parents had nine!) People like to say that raising a child is like investing the future, but it's really just one big pyramid scheme, isn't it? If I loaned someone $641k, I'd sure as hell expect to see at least a small return on that investment. And don't give me any of that "love" crap. Last I checked, they don't accept "love" at the checkout, missy. "Yes, I'd like to pay for that $300 grocery bill with love, please."

Well, that might work with some particularly lonely cashiers, but you'd definitely wind up with VD or worse if you tried to pull that often enough.

Oh, sure, I love kids; I'm just waiting for the discount version. I think someone needs to invent Timeshare Children. (Come to think of it, divorced parents already have...) Now there's a business I'd invest in, and I'd probably make some of my dough back.

I finally understand why parents used to put their spawn to work as soon as they could walk...