Bringing Down the Babysitter, Part 1

Long ago, in a faraway land, I was a young girl.

My brother and I used to get babysat by this girl who lived a few blocks away, Jane. And because my parents were all egalitarian and shit, on the rare occasion when Jane was busy, her brother Rod would fill in.

(Yes, I chose his pseudonym ironically)

Jane was an amazing babysitter. She always let us stay up late, she let us have Kraft Dinner whenever we wanted, she was gorgeous (which my brother was beginning to appreciate more and more) and she always had cute boyfriends that came to play (which, even at age 7 I knew was a good thing). Jane babysat for us until my brother was at least 14... far too old to be babysat, but we loved her.

Then a time came when Jane left for college. My brother was also old enough to care for the two of us when my parents were out (read: middle-school drinking in the basement), but on rare occasions when my brother was on a sleepover, Rod would come over and basically watch TV with me while I did my homework.

Rod was bad.

BAD. Bad-boy bad.

He had frosted tips, which eventually grew out when his hair got long and Kurt-Cobain-ey. But even in greasy wonder, I was aware of his implicit attractiveness.

And he sometimes used our house phone to call his dealer, which I knew was a no-no... but I would have basically let him set the house on fire.

But as luck would have it, a 9-year old girl and a 20-year old studmuffin could never have worked out, despite my best efforts to look mature at our babysitting sessions (lipgloss, flip-flops? References to 90210?). So, when I became too old for babysitters, I embraced freedom and bid farewell to my personal Zack Morris.

That was in the 90s.

Part 2 coming soon!