How do you know when you have a keeper of a babysitter? Take this simple test to find out!
You should keep your babysitter if:
A) The kids love her
B) She’s reliable
C) She lives across the street
D) She’s bright enough to call you “just to let you know” that a house a few doors down is on fire, there are multiple fire trucks and ambulances on the scene, and please do not freak out, they are all fine in your house, which by the way is not on fire, and also the kids are sleeping through the whole thing
E) All of the above
If you answered E, you’re correct! You are also me! (So stop it, because that could get confusing.)
Usually on Thursday nights I head off to choir, come home, walk the sitter back across the street, and then relax in front of the TV. Tonight, I had to spend an additional ten minutes just getting to my house, because my street had turned into a veritable carnival. The sitter and I then walked past not one, not two, but THREE fire trucks en route to her house, which is–wait for it–only two doors down. We also passed everyone who lives within a five mile radius, I think.
Once I had her safely delivered to her door (“Are your parents home?” I asked. “They’re probably standing out on the street watching the trucks,” she laughed) I hustled back towards my house, as usual. But the people. My god. There wasn’t a raging inferno or anything; maybe there had been, earlier, but by then there really wasn’t anything to see other than a lot of rescue vehicles with flashing lights. And I cannot imagine that the rescue workers were finding all these milling, chatting people at all helpful. Yet there everyone stayed, like they were all on line for free food or something. I didn’t recognize most of my neighbors, on account of I’m a bit of a hermit, and there were enough people there that most of them probably weren’t actually neighbors. Likewise, most of them didn’t recognize me, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when they eyed me suspiciously. It could have been that I was walking away from the hubbub, which clearly hadn’t occurred to any of them as a viable course of action.
Or it could have been that I yelled out, “Dude! Where’s the keg at?” as I pushed my way through the throng. Either way.