Saturday, July 3, 2010

Dead baby jokes are funny, right?

In April I spent 10 hellish days taking care of 3yo twins in the south of France. Each night I either passed out from exhaustion or cried myself to sleep from frustration. On the 10th day, I vowed to never EVER spend time alone with what I assume to be God's punishment for my atheism. 3 months later, I still get chills when I see those brats, even though they're angels when they are with their regular nanny.

Cut to this morning when I received a call from their mother, proposing a week in the south of France with the twins again. My first instinct is to hold my cell phone directly in front of my face and bellow, "FUCK YOU!" However, I'm becoming increasingly anxious that my bank statements consistently show only double-digit balances and I'm moving to NY in the fall and have two trips coming up this summer. Now, I can understand why Mexicans will illegally work in slaughter houses. The need to make ends meet far outweighs the probability that you'll lose a finger or get a smattering of intestinal blood in your eye. There's really no chance I'm at stake for either of those consequences, but I can't say the same for the twins.

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