Kids and me - not a good mix

BECK ELEVEN

I am the Screaming Babysitter for hire.

In the midst of school holidays, even though I don't have children, I am frazzled.

I babysat four miniature humanoids last night. We read. Something about dinosaurs, something about Australian marsupials and something about a champion of the world.

Then I mentioned the word "bedtime" and watched the chaos. "You're a meanie," they shouted.

As a kid, I hated bedtime too. I remember a babysitter bit me once and I didn't like it.

This lot was lucky; I made a pledge not to bite them. Well, maybe just a nibble if things got particularly bad.

Instead, I threatened and said "Shhhh!" with such force I almost blew my teeth from their gums.

What seemed like an eternity later I retucked them into their selection of garish-coloured duvets and listened to the sweet, sweet sound of sleeping children.

Job done.

Their mum, my lovely friend Hayley, says she's been yelling at them a lot lately. After my turn as Screaming Babysitter I think I've made her look like a hippy Mallowpuff.

Meanwhile, recent events would prove I'm not necessarily fit to look after myself let alone a snack pack of children.

I went to a 40th birthday party on Saturday night. As a result I lost my wallet, cellphone and makeup purse.

I had grown ashamed of my wallet. It was round, pink, adorned with the face of a monkey and coming to pieces. The zip was bust, it leaked coins and I always had to look for my parking change at the bottom of my handbag.

It had been a candidate for euthanasia for some years.

I should mention that at the party the birthday boy scattered the dance floor with props such as tennis rackets for those who could not play real guitar but planned to enjoy the evening more than God intended.

One of my last acts was to scream a Meatloaf number into an egg beater.

The following day I went to the dairy to buy a much-needed lemonade. I looked for my monkey-faced wallet only to remember I had exchanged it for a see-through plastic ziplock bag.

I have had no trouble finding parking change for a week now.

A further happy byproduct of the evening was temporarily losing my cellphone. Peace at last.

However, by Monday, when I had to shape up for work, I realised I'd also lost my silver makeup purse.

I can live without a phone but I can't live without cosmetics.

Slowly my brain convinced itself my makeup purse had been stolen from my desk at work. I stole sideways glances at my colleagues' complexions. In the end, I decided I would call my insurance company and finally get some payback.

But before that I had one last hunt for my magic silver bag of face-altering substances. I looked beside the mirror and found my compact. And then I saw my eyeliner. And blusher. And lipstick.

The lid of the bag was open and I hadn't recognised the interior view.

I screamed, this time with delight.

And this is what they leave in charge of children. Be afraid.

- © Fairfax NZ News