Wednesday, November 3, 2010

The Most Dangerous Job In The World

Imagine feeling that in the picture.  Your jaw moves to one side of your face.  You hear bones cracking.  Everything goes numb, total shock to the system.  You see stars and your legs go limp.  It's only a matter of time before your lights are turned off due to power grid overload.

That's a good description of the Most Dangerous Job in the World: Babysitting for your two nieces.  Don't get me wrong, I love my nieces, they are hilarious, but they train hard when they know I'm coming over to watch them.  I walked in their house yesterday morning, bright and early at 7 AM.  I'm not used to getting up that early, but they had already been up and completed a workout.  They were in the cooling down phase, playing with their dolls and drawing pictures.  Fooling you, by doing things that normal four and seven year old girls do.

I came bringing donuts, my peace offering or bribe for a good day with them.  They look at me in disgust as they pound their protein shakes.  Wiping the sweat from their foreheads, while still in their workout clothes...cleverly disguised as pajamas.  They humor me by having a donut, probably because the warden or Mom (whatever you want to call her) was still home.  Soon after, the warden has left the building and just like that, in unison, they turn and smile that evil, "I'm going to make your life miserable for the next 8 hours" smile.

It starts off fast and furious, by heading downstairs to the gym/playroom.  Where they bust out their hand/eye coordinator, Jenga.  Uncle Derek loses both games.  I'm already down on the day and it has yet to turn 8 AM.  They run the multiple flights of stairs (they are always working out) to set up the next "game," Shopping Center.  Sounds innocent enough, you walk around with a basket, picking out stuff to buy with "fake" money.  I can do this.  However, it quickly turns into accusations that I've stolen this "fake" money and the game has switched to one of their favorites, Police Brutality.  I'm the criminal, of course, and I'm on the run from the police, them.  I get caught and immediately hauled into interrogation.  Expecting to be able to make a phone call and tell my side of the story, I welcome this development, but I was so wrong.  The door slams and their brand of "interrogation" begins.  Punches to the stomach and kicks to the shins.  They are the toughest cops I've ever seen, I'm ready to admit to anything they want.  The four year old (we'll call her, Viper) wants to be my lawyer.  I'm relieved, but the seven year old (we'll call her, Brains) kicks her out of the room and tells her to wait.  More "talking" needs to be done.  Police Brutality has ended, for now.

I exact my revenge by putting on the mind disruptor, the great equalizer, the television.  Dora, the Explorer is on and they can't fight it.  Plus, it's lunch time.  I ask the "hit girls" what they want to eat and they demand, Peanut butter straight up on white bread.  No jelly, no marshmallow fluff...just straight PB.  I told you they were tough.  After a hearty meal, it's the time of day that I've been looking forward to, NAP TIME.

Brains has cut a deal with the warden, so she can sit in her cell and design plans and/or read reference guides without having to nap.  Viper needs to be put down for a period of time.  She's too unpredictable to be trusted without a nap.  This is going to be a tough negotiation.  "I don't want to sleep in my cell, I want to sleep in the warden's office."  I can do that, I tell her.  I've been given special powers by the wardens to do whatever I feel is needed in an emergency.  Viper is still plotting, I'm just unaware as a rookie prison guard.  Then it happens.  All hell breaks loose in the warden's office.  Viper doesn't want to be there.  I get her out of there and into the main rec room.  Quickly, get her situated and she is out cold for about an hour or so.

Viper wakes up and tells me "that she wasn't really asleep, because she didn't want to be."  She just closed her eyes for an hour to fake me out.  Amazing determination.  The "hit crew" is back together, but I start seeing cracks forming in their union.  Brains wants to enlist me as an ally.  Viper will have none of it.  Brains tries to convince Viper that I'm a master strategist/illustrator and former prisoner myself.  They need my expertise to help further their plans.  Viper is just in destruct mode at this point.  Maybe she really didn't sleep for that hour and really did just close her eyes to humor me.  Hmmm...

A compromise has been worked out.  I'll help out Brains with her plans, neatly disguised as artwork and Viper will work on her stealth attacks.  On me, of course.  This goes on for the remainder of the day.  Viper starts getting too worked up and wants to start playing Police Brutality again.  Then the cell door slams shut, the head warden is now back.  The criminals quickly play the "Daddy's Angels" roles they are so good at.  I give my report to the warden, which the girls are listening closely to.  They believe it's acceptable and let me out of the prison, but with a look.  Next time, it might not be this easy.  Be careful and always watch your back.

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