I already know I am going to be a stellar mother. Why? Because I have killer instincts when it comes to caring for children. I’ve been babysitting other peoples’ kids since I was ten years old and have never had a single complaint. Ok, that is a lie. One time, I was quite possibly the worst babysitter ever…
In 7th grade, a family one block over from my house had been employing me every Saturday night as their favorite babysitter. I spent countless weekends playing with their four-year-old son and infant daughter while they hit the town in an attempt to keep their marriage alive. I loved being the boss and having the responsibility of keeping two young children alive for 4 hours with no help from an adult. It was awesome.
One Saturday night, after putting the little dears to bed, I called-up a cute boy that I’d been crushing on for a while. He began teasing me about a serial killer on the loose in my neighborhood and told me to lock the doors. At first, it was reeeaaallllyyy
mean funny. After about 10 minutes of taunting, I remembered watching the movie Scream and totally freaked. It wasn’t long before I was hearing strange noises and seeing scary shadows outside the windows. Cute Boy was no longer amusing and started whispering “ke-ke-ke-ch-ch-ch-ch” as I began shaking and contemplated calling the police.
Instead, I did what any super-good babysitter would do, and grabbed the largest kitchen knife I could find to defend the helpless children under my care. I walked around the house, turned on every light I could find and moved room-to-room, waiting to see if my big knife would keep me from meeting an untimely end.
I slowly made my way upstairs to check on the kids. Little Junior was sleeping soundly in his big boy bed and I found no monsters in his closet or under the bed. Next I went into little Angel’s room to check for the same things. Her room was also undisturbed so I turned to walk back into the hallway. As I quietly closed the door and turned around with the GIANT knife, I came face-to-face with…..the parents. I stood staring at their horrified faces and, scrambling to find the right words, I shouted “I didn’t kill your baby!” *facepalm*
Ironically, that was the last night I babysat for that family. I’m sure they moved the following week and never left a forwarding address. Weird, I thought it showed a lot of courage that I would go upstairs and check on the children, who were my responsibility, rather than fleeing the house so I didn’t get killed. Some people are totally ungrateful. Afterall, it could have been worse: