Monday, May 10, 2010

Contract Killer

I finish 'work' around 8:15pm every night, with the exception of Mondays. I really got fucked on Mondays. Thibault decided he wanted to join a pansy-ass Tennis-Soccer Club. This meeting of effeminate French men gather every Monday night from 7-8:30, which means Thibault returns around 8:45, and then it is my responsibility to serve him his dinner. I'm still unclear as to why this has become my obligation but I'm too much of a pushover to broach the subject. And considering I've got less than 2 months left, I don't think now is the appropriate time to bitch about my schedule.

Anyway, I've constantly got to coax Thibault to eat quickly. Usually by 9:15 I'm not only getting tired but irritable because Thibault is infringing on my Celebrity Rehab watching time. Tonight, was no exception. He appears to deliberately be eating slowly, so I tell him that tomorrow, when we arrive from school before he can have his free time before homework, I mandate that he come and sit with me at the table and watch me eat lunch. He will literally just have to sit there while I eat what appears to be a small portion of food, but will stretch out over 45 minutes. He was appalled.

His reply, "Well I'll do it for 5 bucks."
"No Thibault, you don't get 5 bucks because I don't get 5 bucks. But you do get less time to do whatever it is that you enjoy."
"You do so get 5 bucks. You get paid to make me dinner."

I am getting so sick of this 12 year old reminding me of how little I get paid to listen to his smart-ass comments. This actually happens often. And if dad hadn't been in the kitchen, I would have laid it out: "Actually douchebag, my 'shift' ended an hour ago so if you don't shovel that steak hâché into your gullet, I'm going to do it for you... while I'm holding your nose."

I really wish the parents hadn't told their kids how many peanuts I get paid. It's gotten better this year, but last year whenever I suggested they do something for themselves (take out the trash or come with me to buy a baguette), they'd always remind me that I'm getting paid to do that. I'm considering showing them my contract to prove that no where does it stipulate that I buy bread, haul trash, or accept verbal bullshit from the children.

Last year I thought it'd be fun to stay a third year and see Thibault through the tumultuous teen years. Now I can't wait to get the fuck out. The mood swings, the snotty comments, the endless declarations regarding stuff he knows nothing about is enough to make a girl seek prescription pain meds, which is my advice to the next au pair: Bring an open prescription of xanax.

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