Sitters: The Last Stand

Six Simple Rules for the Ones Who Watch the Kids

It was disappointing news. Crushing, even.

Our first great babysitter in years — the kind who's like family, only smarter — announced she was moving across the country, thereby annihilating our beloved Date Night.

While grim, the news wasn't really surprising. I have lousy luck with sitters.

There was Poor Judgment Girl, who decided to "rescue" our "lonely" dog from our backyard one day while we were gone and bring him to a 100-decibel kegger at her apartment. When we went to fetch him, she was too drunk to come to the door.

Then there was Blatant Liar Guy. We said he and the kids could build Legos, make sundaes, play Star Wars Monopoly — anything as long as the TV stayed off. We left; he plopped the boys in front of the tube and told them not to rat him out. They did.

Let's not forget Hormonally Tormented Gal, who said she was taking my toddler to the zoo. Turns out they were at her boyfriend's house, where my son watched Bob the Builder while the couple, um, coupled in the next room. Ick! Aack!

And I never did forgive poor Multi-Tasking Lady, who did her laundry at our house and left her lacy thong underwear in our dryer. When I found it, plagued by postpartum paranoia, I accused my husband of having an affair with the sitter. "Yeah," he said, laughing louder than I appreciated, "we had wild sex and then ... oh, baby ... we did laundry!"

1 • 2 • 3

Next >>