Because I was looking to hire a babysitter of the highest exactitude and excellence, I put an advertisement in our local serviceperson-finding exchange. (A very well-qualified gentleman named Craig manages this exclusive directory.)
The advertisement read:
“Needed: a childcare professional who can handle many specialized tasks. You must be able to finesse our LOB-STAR Elite tennis ball thrower, be a leather-gloved chauffeur who can handle driving both our finicky Mazarati AND our sporty Range Rover, sail and know the starboard from the portside, be comfortable in both the environs of Chez Panisse AND Mission Chinese Food and preferably be bilingual in Mandarian and English. Perks include a private Pilates studio, biannual trips to Nantucket and St. Barts and the company of elite intellectuals who would NEVER sing David Guetta songs.”
Ah, but I did not anticipate how DIFFICULT it would BE to find such a paragon. My own heavenly mother’s helper did not appear, because, good help, it seems, is really hard to find.
There were the intangible qualities I was looking for, too. She would need to extract invitations on the chicest playgrounds in town from daughters and sons of the A-list. (She could only rub elbows with other nannies employed by captains of industry or possessors of very large fortunes.) She must know the difference between Salmon roe or sturgeon caviar, when over at Mrs. X’s house for a playdate. (And let me know, because if it’s the Salmon, she’s down on her heels.)
If this sounds bonkers, click here.
Here’s my actual advertisement:
“Competent, kind babysitter wanted to help out a few hours a week. The children are toddler twins. References and CPR-certified, please.”
I mean, REALLY!!!!