I wrote this post almost about 9 months ago, the day after it happened, and then decided not to publish it here in case the babysitter, by some fluke, happened to read my blog. I did allow Lotus to publish it as a guest post a couple of months ago, but I’m kind of hard up for new material at the moment so I swiped my own post from her blog and I’m re-posting it. I’m pretty sure, now, that there is no way the babysitter would ever read this. Phew. Beware, swearing and unsavoury-ness abound.
My daughter is almost two years old. During her life we’ve left her with a babysitter exactly zero times, until last week.
A professional babysitter, I mean. We’ve had family or friends watch her while we stole an evening or even a weekend away on our own. But we could never get our act together enough to actually find some high school or college kid to come over after the kid was sleeping to eat all of our food while inviting his or her friends over to engage in hijinks.
At first it was because she was our baby! How can we leave our baby with a stranger? Later it was because, enh, we’d kind of gotten used to only sporadic alone time. And even later it was because how could anyone be competent at this? We’d been training for two years to take care of a kid our daughter’s age; how was some kid who couldn’t even vote or drink going to be qualified to do this job?
It never occurred to me that what I ought to have been worried about was having a hot babysitter. But this is a theme in the suburbs.
Before I do any more typing here I should say that the person about whom I am writing is definitely over 18, and I have every confidence she is also over 21. Not to diminish the general creepy old man factor involved in this post at all, but I hope to at least keep it from landing me in jail. She’s old enough to smoke, and she’s in college. Don’t call the cops.
We had hired her once to help grandma watch the kid at a friend’s house while the friends were also going away for an evening, leaving their daughter in grandma’s care as well. It was a good opportunity to vet a sitter in a controlled environment. But I never met her. My wife took care of the arrangements. Our friends, however, made a point of telling me that she was hot. Because they’re shit-disturbers.
Needing a sitter for an afternoon when our daughter was too sick for daycare we invited her over for a few hours. I was already out of the house when she arrived, but I would be the first one home, so my first meeting with our hot babysitter would be solo.
I walked in the door and my daughter came running over to me, smiling from ear to ear. They’d been watching Nemo and Cars and jumping around the apartment loudly enough that the downstairs neighbour dragged herself out of her sick bed to ask them to keep it down. A grand old time was had by all.
And the babysitter? Yes, hot. Totally smoke-burned voice, though, that I recognized too well from my days of hanging out with the cool kids smoking behind the school.
And the house reeked. It reeked. But not of cigarette smoke.
Not of any kind of smoke. That would have gotten her fired, but I’d at least have understood. Kids are boring sometimes and you just want to help them become interesting by frying your brain a little.
No, the house reeked of a desperate assault on the bathroom. It reeked of gut-rotted, whiskey shits.
Hello babysitter. My my, you are pretty cute. But what the fuck did you do to my bathroom?
I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, “Hey, man. You have a kid. A toddler. She probably just shat herself as she is wont to do, and the sitter just didn’t change the diaper.” But as any parent will tell you, we know what our kid’s shit smells like. We can pick it out in a crowd of toddlers.
It was really hard to reconcile how she looked with how she had clearly violated my plumbing. It was enough to make me suspect that she’d had her boyfriend over and he’d done the number on the pipes.
Guess what. No matter how hot your babysitter is, if you are convinced she has crapped a raccoon you will never be able to have inappropriate thoughts about her.
Damn. Because I’m pretty sure one of the perks of being a dad is the idle, harmless thoughts you’re allowed to have about the babysitter.
No? What are you, an America-hater? Do you want the terrorists to win?
We had a brief introductory conversation about school and the like, but it seemed like she really wanted to get the hell out of there. Wouldn’t you? If you had dropped a deuce in your employer’s can and he’d come home to some ungodly stew of a stench? Yeah, I’d want to leave too. Quickly. And so she did.
Goodbye, hot babysitter. I’m not sure I can hire you again, not because you’re hot, but because oh my god.
After she left I chased my still sniffling daughter around the living room for a while. And I noticed that the smell never dissipated. In fact, it grew stronger.
And sure enough, when I checked the contents of my daughter’s diaper I discovered that I had completely maligned my hot babysitter. Er, her hot babysitter.
Because my daughter was home sick. And part of her sickness was apparently holy Christ on a bicycle what is dying in your intestines? It completely changed the, well, the everything about her elimination, making it totally unrecognizable.
Is this post really about shit? Sick shit at that?
This post is about how I have a totally hot babysitter.
Although, now I might have to fire her for not changing that fucking diaper before I got home. Jesus. See? Never hire a smoker to babysit; they can’t smell a damned thing.
But, she is hot. How much hotness does it take to make up for anosmia?