Babysitter

Dear Annie,

Last Sunday I had lunch with my parents and grandmother. I don’t quite remember how it came about, but my father was recounting his childhood babysitter. She had punished him by administering enemas. As a wee lad, this must have traumatized my father; but since time heals all, he was now taking great delight in torturing my grandmother with the memory.

“Whaaooorh!” she snorts, “How come you didn’t tell me about it back then!”

“I was a child!” replies my father, while dialing my uncle Aldan on his phone, “Children don’t know how to talk about such things!”

“Hello?”

“Yes, Aldan…it’s Willie…do you remember that babysitter…the one that gave us enemas?”

“Oh you bet I do.”

My father hangs up and flashes my grandmother a triumphal grin. “He remembers!”

Grandma chuckles heartily.

My family never ceases to amaze me.

Dreaming of Robert Downey, Jr.,

Taintedsky