i want you to eat the kale.

There is a ton of food in my fridge and I only got 6 hours of sleep last night, so this morning I went out to get a slice of pizza and a triple Americano. In total, I spent $6.00, which really isn’t too bad considering the drink will last me a couple days. But still, I should’ve made that vegetable quinoa whatever I had been planning on thinking about making instead of eating the most delicious slice of white pizza in Brooklyn. Bad!

As I sat and waited for my drink, I daydreamed about all the things I could do if only I had more willpower. If only I were/was Perfect. Then I could get up at 6:30, go to the gym, Instagram my green drink, check everything off my list- which is outlined and color coordinated every Sunday evening- and somehow get paid for it. Nope. Not this Virgo.

My daydream montage was interrupted by a very high pitched voice. I couldn’t understand what it was saying, but it was definitely whining. My child detector went off. And then I heard,

“I want you to eat your bagel.”

The child was wearing 3-4 layers of clothing, and had a cream cheese mustache. The Bagel Police was not wearing a ring (it’s the only thing that matters!), so I assumed this was babysitter territory.

“THEN can I have the candy?” Asked The Wambulence.

I immediately felt a million feelings. First of all, I miss the kiddos I babysat back in Chicago tremendously, so sometimes I feel sad when I see someone having a pleasant interaction with a child. Then I was grossed out by all the cream cheese, then I was jealous of the kid’s trendy purple flats, then I was like, why is my drink taking so fucking long? But mostly I wished that someone would’ve told me not to eat pizza while all that organic kale wilts in the fridge.

And then I realized: I would like to have a babysitter of my very own.

Why not? I too was wearing 3 dresses! Oh, the things I could do if someone else was holding me accountable… They could lure me out of bed in the morning with espresso martinis, just like my dad used to do with toaster strudels! A babysitter would sing the clean up song with me in a round as we unload the dishwasher together! I could yell, “I’M DONE” from the bathroom, and get a response! Someone ELSE would blow dry my hair at bedtime! But most importantly, my babysitter would not let me eat the box of Cheez-Its until I finished my healthy lunch, which would be shaped like a dinosaur-flower no matter what. (Side note: a bagel is not lunch. A bagel is SNACK).

But, I am not a child. I am an adult. Who works in a bar and has a lot of free time during the day and does not actually own a blow dryer. Which means that I should hold myself accountable. (But only for the things I do when I’m awake). Therefore, I have to look at the situation from an adult point of view, which means: how can I make money off of this daydream?

So I decided I would start my own business as a Grown-Up Babysitter. Nope, not an adult who babysits. Yes, exactly what you’re thinking. Where adults would get paid to help other adults make responsible decisions almost all day long.

Before I could fully flesh out the idea, the barista interrupted my plans and finally gave me my drink- which was in a paper cup and not in the eco-friendly travel container that I pulled out of the dishwasher and rinsed.

“I’m secretly happy,” I whispered to him.

He definitely did not care. But if I had a babysitter, she would’ve told me she was proud of me. I just know it.


  1. I’ll have you know I read this blog entry while eating my way thru a box of cheez-its. Also I just checked the spelling on the box of cheez-its.


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