I have a child. She’s cool, she’s hip
I’m biased, she’s a pitcher full of fun ideas, she’s potty-trained. You’d think getting a sitter for my eight year old would be a piece of cake. Cake? Did someone say cake?
It doesn’t help that I live somewhere where the kids think they should have lives, extracurriculars, and are possibly handed $50 bills for existing. Okay, maybe not all of them on the money deal, just many of them who at some point presented themselves to me as babysitters…
well, that’s what they act like!
So, we seem to have a lack of financial desperation in the youngsters – hit one.
Couple that with my old lady tendency of doing the unthinkable when I want to get a sitter.
I call her. On a phone.
And if she doesn’t answer, I do something more unthinkable…I leave a voicemail message.
Now, for old folks like me
who still wear a watch, we assume people with cell phones may occasionally use their phone as a phone.
Oh, no, mon frere.
I have seen the error of my ways. After bitching to my friend about not having a sitter for the night my contest-winning play will be performed on Bainbridge Island, my
more hip and cool friend said, you can’t call them and leave a message! You have to text these girls you freaking idiot and how are we even friends?!
Same sitter I had called and left a message with I then texted and VOILA! Sitter obtained!
So, consider this my Public Service Announcement, parents in the 2012 universe
who may still be wearing a watch. May you use this information in good health!
Maybe I should have just mass-texted this blog post…?