I Want to Vomit... All Over the Babysitter
Well, I'm gratified to know that my instincts are spot-on. What I'm nauseated about is that I don't follow them. I want to get this whole sordid story out of my system, mainly because I think that vomiting it up will make me feel better, but all I can muster right now are a few bullet points:
- The babysitter quit last night, via e-mail. Stated reason: The internship she interviewed for on Friday unexpectedly started this week.
- I've had concerns for a while about said babysitter's honesty and reliability, but I sat on them because (a) I had a sense that confronting her about lying, even just to say, "you know, I'd rather just have you tell me the truth, even if it's not as pretty" would burst some reality bubble around her and cause a mess, (b) I need a babysitter, and I'm too lazy/face-to-face-meeting-averse to want to look for a new one, and (c) Austen seemed to like her.
- Austen is fine. She played nicely with him and never hurt him in any way. I suspect, however, that the child development courses she said she'd taken were as imaginary as the flat tire that made her 15 minutes late one day (a flat tire makes you 30, 45, or 60 minutes late, not 15).
- Closing an e-mail with "Respectfully," doesn't make it respectful. Just so you know.