My name is Jenni and I am a babysitter. I have been since age 11. See, I grew up in the 80's. Microwave popcorn had just been invented, and it was perfectly normal for parents to hire an 11-year-old to watch their 3 kids in exchange for $2.50 an hour and unlimited access to fruit roll-ups. If there were no pre-teens available, they might even leave their children in the station wagon with the windows cracked while they shopped for groceries or knocked back a couple of Sea Breezes at the bar.
Even though times have changed, I like to think I've retained some of the old fun-lovin' spirit of the 80's (but with a LOT less cocaine) and incorporated it into my style of babysitting. I've simply added a few safety precautions to update it to modern times. For example, it's great to slide down the stairs on air mattress toboggans, but only if you can pass a comprehensive coordination test that involves running through the house in socks holding an egg in your mouth.
All in all, my babysitting success is due not only to a youthful zest for life and light ESP, but to a genuine love of kids... as long as they are someone else's.*
I'm a darn good babysitter. The best, some might say. I'm often asked by a curious mother what the secret to my success is. Then, while I'm seriously contemplating my answer, I'm occasionally asked by her friend how a babysitter like myself can afford Prada wedges. That's when my answer becomes: "I'm sure your husband could tell you in better detail." I then toss my hot dog into the pool, which is the youngest child's cue to light me a cigarette and say, "We'd better hustle if we're going to make that Centerfolds audition," quickly leading me and any lingering siblings out of the country club. But that's only happened once or twice, three times tops. I'm not necessarily looking for an excuse to lose a hot dog, if you know what I mean, but please... do not mess with my outfit or suggest that it was purchased with means other than gold bullion or babysitting cash.
Dressing for success is a very important element to my job satisfaction. I like to be authentic, play to the imagination a little. While babysitting, I tend to dress like a cross between an irresponsible au pair from 1980 and a high school ceramics teacher with a fondness for ferns. Every element, from my wooden platforms to my elephantine handbag, emulates this style. It doesn't matter to me if the shoe was last season's Balenciaga or a mutilated huarache that was traded for a ham sandwich next to the dumpster behind Trader Joe's - if it fits, I'll wear it. Whether a nun or a dope pusher, I think everyone should put a little care and effort into the way they dress for the work week. It makes the daily grind a lot less grindy, and that's an improvement I think we all can agree on!
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