Clueless, In Many Situations

The New York Times called yesterday’s final at Wimbledon and “epic battle” and “one of the greatest tennis matches ever played…” I feel like I missed out on something really important but, I apologize Mr. Nadal, I just don’t care about tennis at all. To me, it’s no different than watching two people play Pong on an old Atari. I’m sure there’s more to it than that but it eludes me. I use to date a girl who played a lot of tennis and she tried to explain the scoring system to me on three separate occasions. My eyes glazed over each time and it never sunk in. When I put a wall up, I make a commitment to my detachment.

Speaking of detachment...

I am the world’s worst babysitter. I was simultaneously babysitting 2-Year Old Daughter and creating a set of back-up system disks for the new HP. I forgot about the babysitting part and snapped out of it just in time to see that she had colored her hands a deep blue with a marker and was about to color the new carpet in the office. I used my ninja like speed and snatched it out of her hand, causing her to let out a shriek, and then a screech, which was quickly followed by a wail.

Babysitting a 2-year old is an acquired skill that I haven’t quite mastered yet. And don’t let Mrs. Wife—in fact, let’s expand on that—don’t let ANY wife catch you categorizing time spent with your 2-year old as babysitting. Their eyes roll up into their heads, they start to vibrate and their hands clinch and unclench in quick bursts. It’s not babysitting if it’s your own child. They insist on that distinction.

Sorry, ladies, but if it looks like babysitting and feels like babysitting then it is, in fact, babysitting.