I’ve recently been burdened with the unfortunate task of searching for a babysitter. For my kid, not me. And since I don’t really have many friends, I’ve taken to the internet. It seems like a great idea: a website created for parents (just like me) to search through hundreds of babysitters and nannies in MY area. Wow, sign me up. I can even see pictures, too! Then why is it that I feel as though I’m on some early incarnation of Chatroulette? It’s sticky and seedy and hepatitis-y here.
I want to send a personal message to some of the young ladies on this site. Well, actually I want to grab them by their shoulders and shake them until I hear a pop. But I’m a nonviolent person. I just would like to tell them no. Don’t use a cropped headshot of yourself at a bar. Because I can tell. And I’m pretty sure if we could magically see the rest of that edited picture we would see you on a mechanical bull trying not to spill your Mai Tai onto your new Hollister halter top. Don’t think you can fool me; I was waiting in line behind you for that same bull ride.
I almost broke my collarbone on that damn thing.
And don’t use the same picture you sent in to eHarmony and Christian Mingle and Ashley Madison. We want it to be a surprise when you sleep with our husbands. If you advertise it right in your bio then you’re ruining that for us. So maybe edit out that little tidbit about you loving cherry lollipops. (And certainly don’t use that picture). And ease up on the crazy eyes and maybe crop out the breast pump in the bg. You need to take the Rebecca De Mornay down a few ticks. She was so 1992, anyway.
Yet as I write this, I realize I don’t really know what I want in a babysitter. Nobody will be good enough. Well, unless you wear a calf length, Edwardian-style dress, carry a bottomless carpetbag and use an umbrella to fly hither and thither, you will not be good enough. And even though Mary Poppins is most likely unavailable and/or out of my price range, I don’t think I should have to settle for Kelsey in the next town over. Sure she loves puppies and classic rock, but she’s a psychology major and can’t work nights because it could interfere with her job at Leave it to Beavers. I don’t want my child around psychology majors.