I have a neighbor that I’m very friendly with (which is different from actually being friends. I make that distinction because it’ll help you look kinder on me at the end of this story). I usually bump into her when I’m walking the dog and we spend a few minutes catching up on…whatever. We’ve met a few times for coffee, dessert, alcohol. I like her.
She has a great 6-year old daughter who is very smart. The daughter loves my dog, Danny, and seems to like me, too. She loves to regale me with stories about what happened at school or with her cousins who live nearby. I always pretend to be interested. (Sometimes I actually am). She’s a cute kid.
Ok, so why am I telling you this? The other day while on my walk, I bumped into her mother. While we were chatting, she mentioned that she needed a sitter for a few hours on Saturday and wondered if she could drop Darling Daughter at my house while she went off to do God-knows-what.
I was pleased that she trusted me enough to leave her daughter with me. I was also horrified. I chose not to have kids for a reason, and there is no way in the world that I was going to spend my Saturday afternoon with a talkative 6-year. This delightful little girl is one of the chattiest people I know. Nope; not doing it. I told her mother I thought I was catching the flu. Ha! (Was I wrong?)