On Saturday I had the pleasure of babysitting Britt’s children while she and my wife went shopping. This was the first time in almost 15 years that I have had to babysit, and, of course, the first time I’ve had to babysit while I had a blog. So I decided to grab a spiral notebook, and just jot down my thoughts during the seven hours of
hell fun. It’s good that I did, because only a day and a half later, I’ve discovered that I’ve blocked out the entire event and have no recollection of anything that happened. So, here they are, transcribed for your reading pleasure:
Avitable’s Note: I’ve substituted “Princess” for Britt’s daughter and “Cyclone” for her son.
Britt and Amy just left. This doesn’t seem so bad. I just put Finding Nemo in the DVD player and both kids seem engrossed. How long can they be gone shopping anyways? They’ll probably be back within 3-4 hours, I’m sure.
Wow, Finding Nemo didn’t keep them occupied for very long. Princess started bawling her eyes out as soon as she realized her mom snuck out, and is babbling in an Ancient Sumerian language about something that is very important to her. Cyclone has decided that this means he should wrestle my head with his entire body. We just broke a lamp.
I just looked at the clock, thinking that at least three or four hours must have passed by. When I realized that it had only been an hour, I started crying. Britt mentioned that Princess knows basic sign language, and she showed me what some of the signs meant, but I was too busy looking at her boobs, so I don’t remember any of it. Right now, Princess is thumping her chest with one hand and touching her mouth with her other hand. I can’t figure out if that means that she’s hungry, thirsty, or she needs CPR. I am about to assume it means CPR when Cyclone stops punching me in the nuts long enough to tell me that it’s lunchtime.
I have food in my hair, there’s macaroni and cheese on the ceiling, and we broke three glasses. I didn’t see Princess or Cyclone get any food in their respective mouths, but I hope they did. Princess isn’t making the CPR motion anymore, so maybe it did mean hungry. Maybe I can convince them to go watch Shrek now.
Okay, it’s been three hours. Where the holy fuck are they? They should be back by now, right? I guess, with driving time, it might be a few more minutes. I can hang on for a few more minutes. Princess is dancing on the couch and singing in Ancient Sumerian while Cyclone keeps testing the strength of his shoes on my shins. I can make it.
Apparently a 7-year old boy who took wrestling does know a pretty good choke hold. I just woke up after being out for what must be about two hours. One of my eyebrows has been shaved off and I’m not wearing any pants. There is also a crayon lodged in my right nose, and Princess and Cyclone are nowhere to be found. The window to my left is shattered into about fifty pieces.
Found both kids hiding under our bed, playing with the contents of The Box. I won’t tell Britt that Princess had that in her mouth. Turns out my shoelaces were tied together as well, so when I got up after the choke hold, I fell flat on my face. Broke another lamp.
I thought that duct tape might keep the two kids immobile for a little while, but apparently children are too slippery. I taped them to the chairs, walked back to my chair, and by the time I turned around, it was too late. They were gone. In the other room, I heard a bowl smash.
Both children are now running around the house naked throwing eggs at each other. My voice is completely gone, and I think my hair has turned gray. I tried putting in other movies, like Bambi, or Scooby Doo, but nothing has worked. I tried other stuff like Die Hard or Rambo, and that didn’t even hold their attention. Finally, I gave hardcore porn a shot. I think Cyclone might be intrigued. Princess just likes the music and keeps dancing. Thank God I kept that copy of “The World According to Cock”.
Avitable’s Note: My notes for the last hour and fifteen minutes before Britt returned are mostly gibberish. I could make out “help”, “why God why” and “our future?” scribbled several times. The only thing that was actually discernible in any way was this drawing: