I'm a Bad Babysitter
By Wynne Burroughs
Copyright 2012 Wynne Burroughs
It was yet another Friday. In general I'd prefer to find some party or night club, drink myself senseless and find some guy to bed. Unfortunately there was a problem, and his name was Mr. Moore.
He was a single guy with two kids. I still haven't asked what happened to their mother. He works as some kind of software engineer. For a guy in his mid-forties he's pretty good looking. Not an inch of fat on him. His hair had long since gone more-salt-than-pepper.
He called me on Tuesday night.
“Emily,” he said, “I'm gonna need a sitter for Friday. You available?”
Ordinarily I'd say yes. Mr. Moore pays better than most of the other dads, but I was excited for this party.
“I got invited to a party and I really want to go—”
Mr. Moore said, “Look, my kids will complain way less if you babysit them. Can I just give you double money? I'm gonna probably be out till two AM at the earliest...”
Dollar signs flashed in my mind.
“Okay,” I said.
“Be here at eight.”
I still regretted losing my Friday night, but if he was going to be gone till two in the morning that gave me at least some chance to salvage the night.
When I arrived I found him doused with cologne and his hair slicked back in some ancient style. It wasn't very hard to figure out where he was going.
“Have fun with your lady friend,” I said as he walked out the door.