We don’t drink Pepsi, ho

Though Paul and I had a very enjoyable date last night in downtown Annapolis, the evening ended with us catching our babysitter with her boyfriend in our apartment. It was the funniest damn thing I have witnessed in a long time. First thing out of Paul’s mouth this morning when we woke up was, “did that really happen last night?” Yes, yes, it did.

We hired this 18 year old high school senior, after she interviewed with us last week. She’s sweet, has experience with little ones, has babysat for other families in our complex, and was anxious for the job. With Paul and I in desperate need of a night out, we asked her to come over last night and basically just sit in our apartment while Jackson sleeps. It was a total gimme of a job. She came over after Jackson had already been put down for the night, we locked up Red in our bedroom so that she wouldn’t even be bothered by the dog… I mean, c’mon.

We left to go out around 8:30, without hesitation.  At 9:30 I got a phone call from the babysitter, wondering if she could use our computer and what time we were expecting to be back. “My parents are just wondering what time just as a point of reference,” she told me.  Riiiiiiight… I didn’t think much of it at the time, and just wanted to get back to hanging at the bar with my hub, so I got off the phone with her and continued my beverage consumption with Paul.  When we were done at one bar and thinking of hopping over to another, my exhaustion got the best of me.  I’m fighting a nasty cold, and asked Paul if we could just head home.  I sent the babysitter a text message at 10:30 that said, “we’re on our way. Hope all went well.  See you shortly.”

She never got the text.  I know now why she never got the text. teeheehee…

Paul and I took a cab home and when we arrived in the parking lot, I looked up at the windows to our apartment and there were no lights on.  You could see the glow of the tv, but the lights that had been on when we left were now off.

(((enter porn music)))

We live on the 3rd story of our apartment building.  She must have heard my heels on the stairs, because by the time Paul unlocked our door and we entered the apartment, she was throwing her boyfriend out the back door that’s off our kitchen.  The poor guy didn’t even have shoes on.  It was 25 degrees last night.  That must have sucked.

I saw the boy-toy, but our babysitter must’ve thought she got him out before I could see him because she turned around and said to me, “oh hey.  I was just trying to figure out where you keep your recycling for the Pepsi cans.”

I looked at her, hair all a mess, eyeliner smeared on her face, one sweat pant leg hiked up, the other down, no socks on, and I thought to myself, “WE DON’T DRINK PEPSI, HO!  That’s a Dr. Pepper can in your hand.”

(At this point, I’m doing all that I possibly can to NOT bust out laughing at her.)

She walked with me back into the living room, where Paul was sitting.  In the living room, our couch cushions had been removed from the couch and were on the floor.  She apologized profusely for that and put them back on the couch, upside down.  She gathered her things, ipod, backpack, and we briefly and awkwardly talked about how we’d see her next week.

I went to walk her out with the intention of both confronting and consoling her.  She knew she was busted and she was very embarrassed… so embarrassed that she never gave me a moment to say anything to her.  She took the money and scooted down the stairs faster than I could even gather my thoughts.

When I came back inside, Paul and I laughed for a solid 10 minutes.  I nearly peed in my pants, I was laughing so hard, still thinking the boyfriend was standing behind our apartment building with no shoes on.

Our laughter subsided and Paul and I then started to talk about the whole thing… “are we ok with this? are we not? what do we say, if anything?”  We decided that it really wasn’t a big deal.  They’re 18.  They got busted.  They were stupid.  So we table it, knowing that I was going to talk to her about it on Monday and have a talk with her that went something like this, “We know.  We get it.  We’ve been 18.  Just don’t be stupid.  We have a kegerator in our house.  Don’t be an idiot.” And, that was our plan.

So, I check on Jackson, who was asleep this entire time, and as I leave Jackson’s room, something tells me to look in the guest bedroom.  I turn the light on.  The bed has obviously been rolled around on.  The mattress is partially off the box-spring, the pillows are not arranged the way I arrange them (good thing I’m totally OCD when it comes to bed making), and the duvet is all wrinkled.  Now, I’m pissed.

I tell Paul to come check out the guest bedroom.  He sees and he gets pissed.  We head back to our room, plop on our bed and start discussing this all over again.  We were fine when it was just a couple of stupid teenagers making out on our couch.  Whatever.  I honestly don’t know an 18 year old girl who hasn’t snuck her boyfriend in when babysitting. but she was on our guest bed with her boy-toy, and I guarantee you, if our 85 lb dog hadn’t been locked up in the master bedroom, she would’ve been on our bed with her guy.  Oh hell naw…

Paul and I decide that we can’t have her back here.  And then I decide that I don’t sit well with things over night and I needed to confront her now, at 11:30 pm.  So, I call her.  She doesn’t answer (surprise surprise).  I leave her a message saying, “Hey.  It’s Nicole.  Call me when you get a chance. I want to talk to you about having your boyfriend here tonight. We’ll be up.  Don’t be afraid to call late.”  She calls me back immediately, “Mrs. White, I’m soooo sorry.  We were just watching tv, I swear.  It’ll never happen again.  It was stupid.”  So, I giggle for a bit because, c’mon, this is hilarious, and then I say to her, “Ya know, we get it.  We’ve been 18, and we were fine with this to a point.  But, some boundaries were crossed (referring to the guest bedroom but not outright saying it) and this just isn’t going to work out.”  She continues to apologize, and by this point, my laughter gets louder and I say, “C’mon.  That was pretty ballsy to do on your first time being here.  Thanks for giving us an evening away from the baby.  We wish you all the best.  Peace out.”

And that was it.

Funniest thing about this entire situation… Paul knows her dad through work.  Bet that’ll be a fun conversation around the office. “So Paul, sorry to hear things didn’t work out with my daughter babysitting for you this weekend.”  Ummm… yeah…

Who hasn’t been there at 18!?  Thanks to Nic for this hilarious Three Day Weekend Post!  You can find Nic at her blog, My Bottle’s Up.