Kids aren’t a bad idea. You know, some are kind of cute in a drooling, screaming, throw-up-on-your-new-shoes sort of way. But what is a bad idea is having a whole bunch of them and then hiring someone like me to babysit them.

Let’s put it this way: I’ve killed every single fish I have ever owned within a week of their coming into my possession. Though one time, it was kind of my grandmother’s fault for cooking them. Oh, and I’ve killed my mini-cactus. I’m still not quite sure how, but it just decided to wilt on me one day. In addition, I have a bit of a short fuse. Put these two qualities together, and you get an excessively long and angry blog post.

Anyway, here are the following reasons why I will never babysit again to earn money for college:

5. I was not aware that mixing up Disney princesses was a capital punishment.

I had a fairly normal childhood. I’ve seen just about all of the Disney princess movies, and I can sing “The Second Star to the Right” off the top of my head. “I’ll Make a Man out of You” is my ringtone. Point is, I know my Disney characters fairly well.

Ha.

Ha Ha.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

By four-year-old-girl standards, I apparently know SQUAT about these princesses.

Girl: “Who’s your favorite princess?”

Me: “Um… Mulan!”

Girl: “MULAN. IS. NOT. A. PRINCESS!!!! SHE DIDN’T MARRY A PRINCE! SHE IS NOT A PRINCESS!” **scream**

Me: “Okay! Okay! Okay! Um… Um… I like… uh… Rapunzel! Princess Rapunzel!”

Girl: “Snow White is better! Rapunzel’s prince is a doo-doo head!”

Me: “Who? Prince Charming?”

**silence**

Girl: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! IT’S PRINCE PHILLIP!!!! NOT PRINCE CHARMING!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH~!” **screeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaammm**

…which brings me to my next point.

4. THE INTOLERABLE NOISE

I babysit a four-year-old girl, a six-year-old girl, and a three-year-old boy, and a almost-one-year-old baby. All from the same family. And all very, VERY vocal. Need I elaborate?

3. The physical suffering you endure is worse than training for a 5k race.

I train pretty regularly. And let me tell you, I’d take racing in the summer heat over squatting for FOUR HOURS in a playhouse any day. I’m just at that awkward height when you’re too short to be of any use to the world, but too tall to stand comfortably in a playhouse. Thus, I am confined to doing perpetual wall-sits. Lemme tell you, THEY FRICKIN HURT! Meanwhile, the kids blabber on about their plastic tomatoes and almost stab each other in the eyes with the plastic knives.

Ah, and don’t even get me started on the Legos and Thomas the Tank Engine models the boy leaves lying around. When you step on one, the pain is just indescribable.

2. I am paid less than an illegal immigrant in my country.

I have tried to bring this up every payday, but my mom, in true Chinese fashion, insists: “Oh, no, she doesn’t need the money! No, no, just keep it! No, really! She’s just so happy to volunteer!”

…Thanks, Mom.

And finally, reason number 1:

ABBA’s song “Dancing Queen,” when played on repeat, is one of the cruelest forms of torture know to mankind.

And apparently, it has some addictive properties to 6 year olds. No, it’s not enough that we dance to it thirty-seven times. And sing along to it another ten or so times. Or that we just leave it playing throughout an entire, 5 hour long babysitting session. No, let’s just keep repeating this whole process EVERY SINGLE TIME TORI COMES OVER. BECAUSE WE ALL LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH.

**sobs**

It's still stuck in my head. T^T nooooooooo~