Just because I’m asian, it doesn’t mean I’m the nanny

We had just been seated at a restaurant, when I realized I’d forgotten the baby’s snacks. Yes, I know we were already at a restaurant, but if the baby doesn’t have something to munch on while waiting for her food, there is hell to pay and yes, at times, it seems like she could be the devil. There are strong similarities. STRONG.

On my way out of the restaurant, a woman stopped me.

Those are beautiful children. There’s something about her that seems… off.

Wha? Oh them? Yeah, thanks. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the baby. She was about to start getting mad. Gotta get the damned snacks. Where’s that damned waiter? Bring the devil some bread!

I’ve got three kids myself. Great this woman was the chatty type. I am NOT the chatty type. She pointed to a table with three kids running around it and a husband that ignored it all while chatting on his phone.

Huh, well, good for you. I sighed, hoping she’d get the stop-fucking-talking-to-me hint.

So, where are you from originally?

I bristled at her question. My right eye started to blink quickly. Shit. I knew where this conversation was going. I studied her face, hoping she’d prove me wrong.

She kept smiling at me, like I had spinach in my teeth or in my nose . She cleared her throat and asked, So, what happened with their mom?

I answered her with a roundhouse kick to the head as she fell on her ass. I blinked and there she was, unfortunately, still standing in front of me, smiling that annoying smile.

Here’s my card. I’m a lawyer in Fort Lauderdale. You speak English very well. Did you go to an American university? Her words clicked together, moving faster than I could comprehend them. Her voice got louder, as if I couldn’t hear her or understand her. She continued: We’re looking for a new nanny…

My brain shut-off and so did my filter. Why the hell are you telling me this?

I’d love to interview you.

You’ll have to speak to my publicist. I started walking towards the door.

Excuse me? I don’t think you understand. I’d like to… she stammered.

No, I understand and you should shut up now before the hole you’re digging becomes a black hole.

There is no need to be rude. She annunciated each syllable like she was talking to a child.

I’m not the goddamn nanny. That’s my husband over there and those are my kids.

Her face dropped as she looked at me and then the floor.

What the fuck is wrong with you? I looked over at the baby. Thank fuck the waiter brought her bread.

It was an honest mistake. I hated her high, squeaky voice.

No, it was an ignorant mistake. Why don’t you go take care of your kids (who were out of control and pelting each other with spit wads).

So you’re really not interested in a nanny position?

There’s a reason why flasks were invented.

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