Sunday, July 10, 2005

That special touch

Not anyone can be a part-time nanny. One has to check a few notches of self-respect at the door upon joining the ranks of the hired help, those earning an hourly wage, who are paid in cash, and who don't have a last name anymore (and thus have nothing meaningful to contribute).

During my ill-advised inebriation last weekend, one of the (less, surprisingly enough) obnoxious things I said to an interested party of the male persuasion was, “We’re PhD students, we’re smart, that bullshit doesn’t work on us!” in response to his lame attempts hit on my friend and me. This might also be a fitting thing to say when parents of my charges’ playmates give me a quizzical look that says I don’t look nearly Mexican enough or failing actress enough to be a “real nanny.”

Truth be told, my gig is pretty sweet as nannying goes. The kids are old enough that the things they like to do are fun for me too. I never have to do “voices” aside from those intended to persuade them to eat fruit or put their dishes away. The best part so far might have been the day I arrived to find a family rushing off to a doctor’s appointment. The mom took both kids to the doctor while I cozied up with a gossip magazine to wait for the repairperson. I guess this gets translated as “management and supervision skills” on my resume?

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