As a teenager, I had quite a lucratice career as a babysitter. Being the oldest of thirteen grandchildren, I was afforded many an opportunity to hone my skills as a caregiving expert. And through word of mouth, my babysitting prowess spread throughout the land. Soon enough my afternoons and weekends were filled with cartoons, homework, trips to the ice cream truck, games of hide and seek, putting on mini-plays in basements and countless hours of playing Barbie.

One would think that at age 27, I'd be superbly equipped for a simple evening with two children - ages six and four.

It really wasn't bad actually. They are they offspring of one of my very close girlfriends. It was her birthday and she was going to see a concert at Radio City with her husband. So I offered to watch the blessed beings.

When I arrived, they had already eaten and were playing nicely on the living room rug with a spinning top that had come in a Kid's Meal from Burger King. My only instructions were to help Kayla with her homework and make sure that they were in bed by 9:00. Easy.

As soon as we were alone, the dog - a blenheim and white pit bull named Stella (yes, after the beer) - started scratching to go outside. Stella is fabulously self-sufficient when it comes to relieving herself so I opened the sliding glass door to let her into the backyard. I had no sooner gotten the door closed when I saw Stella's ass sailing over the gate into the driveway.

Wonderful. Now I had to go chasing after an escaped pit bull.
I found her on the next door neighbor's front lawn eating some foreign substance that appeared to be another dog's vomit. She ignored my calls until she was done snacking and then came trotting proud as a peacock along the sidewalk, back up the driveway and in the house.

After Kayla's homework was complete, I decided the kids should make birthday cards for their mother. So the three of us sat quietly at the kitchen table with markers and construction paper, thinking of lovely things to draw and write. But evidently, Declan, the four year old, got bored with this because he began trotting around the kitchen doing typical four year old boy things.

I was rather entranced by my own artwork and not really paying much attention to him. So when he stuck his index finger in my face and said "Smell my finger", I obliged him. I was not at all prepared for the menacing odor that assaulted me.

"Declan, where was your finger?", I screamed at him.

"I don't know", he replied.

I then turned to Kayla and asked her were her brother's hand had been. My inquiry was met with a shake of her blond head.

Well as it turns out, the offending finger had been residing in his butt. As I dragged him into the bathroom to make him wash his hands for five minutes, I realized that this is typical behavior for a four year old boy in the Anal Stage of his psychosexual development. I silently chastised myself for being so stupid as to smell a finger that had been shoved in my face by a child.

The remainder of the evening almost went smoothly. They put their pajamas on when I asked them to. They brushed their own teeth without being told. We read a bedtime story. And they went straight to their rooms the first time it was mentioned and didn't leave them for the rest of the night.

At this point, it had been four hours since my last cigarette and I was ready to roll up the carpet and smoke it. I figured with the kids snug in their beds, I could sneak outside for my fix and take Stella with me so I could supervise her in the yard.

I stepped outside and turned around to close the door but as soon I faced the yard, there was Stella's ass soaring over the gate. AGAIN. At least this time I knew where she would be going.

I dashed out the front door and over to the neighbor's lawn. This time, instead of having a snack, Stella was leaving them a present. I waited, knowing that a lady wants her privacy in a moment such as this, and then we walked once more back into the house.

With that, I flopped onto the couch, reaffirming to myself that as much as I love my friends' children, I don't ever want one coming out of me. And I was convinced I could still faintly makeout the smell of Declan's contaminated finger...