piski

I spent Monday trying to keep the little girl that I baby-sit from pulling my shirt up in the middle of Chelsea. God knows why she suddenly decided that exposing my bra was the most hysterical thing ever. She succeeded thrice: once in front of a homeless man, once in front of a group of construction workers, and the last in front of a very crowded diner patio. Small children are quick, wily bastards.

All in all, the two kids that I look after are great. They're well-mannered (the same little girl waited until I decided that I hated my bangs to express that she'd disliked them from the beginning, after all). They eat their vegetables without being told to. They only beat up on each other occasionally. They just generally make my job easy.

At the beginning of this year, however, I had the unfortunate, scarring experience of babysitting another couple of kids. They were demonic vomit-brats from some smotheringly cold circle of hell - you know, the one just before the last circle where Lucifer chews on Judas in Dante's Inferno. One of them was the most sadistic child I've ever met. More than anything, she enjoyed strangling me and yanking on my various piercings (septum ring + satanic child = ..bad. So bad). I should've sensed that something was wrong when I was first introduced to her. I leaned down to say hello, and she attempted to smack me in the face. With an innocent, how-do-you-do-miss smile. "We don't hit," her mother said. She smiled wider, and karate-chopped me in the stomach.

No amount of money was worth the potential of ripped-out piercings, or the somewhat creepster parents. Which I won't get into. I'll just say they were uncomfortable to be around.