I’m just a temp here

I admit it. I have a tyrannical side that likes to step in when the boys act up and just say “Nooooooooo!,” with a long low growl, and possibly some teeth showing; I fancy myself with little flames over my pupils for good measure. But it doesn’t work, and my terrifying display of primal rage is always good for making the tiny children bowl over in giggles, especially the baby.

And that, of course, is when I have to pretend that I’m the nanny. This doesn’t matter, it’s all good, I go home at 5:30 after throwing some chicken dinos at them, or better yet, bringing them to a McDonald’s drive-through, safely strapped to their arms-free automobile straitjackets, aka “car seats.”

We eat peacefully, for 2.5  minutes, and for that time, I don’t have to worry about the medical bills later, or feigning pleasant denial in the interview with People after it’s found I brought up one, maybe two, serial killers. Nope, just kiddies and toys and bad food and games. No responsibility, no worries, no strings.

It’s a lot like a one-night stand with some cute kids. I recommend it.

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