The summer I was 8 years old my mother decided to hire someone--a teenager--to babysit me and clean the house. I still remember the gal's name--Barbara Bloom. She and I did not hit it off so well. I probably wasn't the easiest child to babysit, but she wasn't the greatest babysitter either. One day she fixed me something for lunch that I didn't like. My father came home for lunch, so I told him that I didn't want to eat what she fixed. He told me that I didn't have to eat it. Needless to say, this didn't go over so well with Barbara Bloom, and she gave me a scathing lecture after he went back to work. Yet, I was satisfied because I had my father on my side.
The next summer I begged my mother not to hire another babysitter. I convinced her that I could take care of myself better than any babysitter could. My days with "Barbara Blooms" were over. YEAH!!!
