a dolts

Once upon a time I was a nanny.

The theory that I am an adult was questioned (by the children, thank goodness, rather than their parents) and I tried to answer by showing my license.

"Yeah, right," they answered, in their three- and six-year-old wisdom. "So you're old.* That doesn't mean you're not one of us."

And my mom and dad and sister and brother have all perfected the Art of Silly.

They've rubbed off on me, as I to this day will open my mouth and show my food if a toddler asks what I'm eating. And I understand the importance of tickling and the value of making faces. And I still think it's funny when my brother makes me laugh so hard that Diet Coke comes out my nose.

The children here have all decided that I'm just a really tall kindergartener who happens to have some modicum of authority.

So why do adults always have to ruin everything?

*"Old"? What!? I almost made them stop driving the golf cart at that one.

betholindo at 9:07 p.m.

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