For only the fourth or fifth time in my life, Cool Jesus was a co-babysitter last Saturday night. I might be giving myself too much credit by calling myself a co-sitter, but hey, let me enjoy my resume-building moment. Swedish Girl had committed to babysit on Saturday night and then, after realizing this would eat up our entire night, she sought and was granted permission for Cool Jesus to become her assistant.
I arrived at 6:30 pm, even before the parents’ friends had come over for cocktails. As Swedish Girl did her thing, I flipped through the newest issue of Life & Style (Britney chopped off all her hair! Angelina and Brad are over! Lindsay Lohan wants to settle down and have babies!). The cocktail hour seemed to drag on and on, but once the grown-ups were gone, I was summoned downstairs to assume my co-sitting duties. I was hoping to play some games with the twins – a boy and a girl not yet 3 years old – but all we got to do before their bedtime was watch a little bit of Charlotte’s Web. Then it was time for them to get ready for bed. As they piled on top of Swedish Girl in the armchair, I donned a red, plastic firefighter helmet, sat on the floor, and enjoyed the stories (it’s okay to be different, but I think Swedish Girl disagreed with the author’s assertion that it is okay to eat in a car…something like that).
So, sadly my time with the twins was brief, but there was still one more client to go. The baby (not yet 4 months old) had to be awoken, given his bottle, and bathed. True, I mostly watched as these things were being done, but the important thing was that I was there as a trusty backup. For instance, who else was going to jump into action to get those tissues when the baby spit up? Who else was going to be right there on the spot to stop him from crying when he didn’t like the water temperature the first time? Who else was going to teach him to say, "Hi, my name is Ben. It’s nice to meet you." I swear he said, "Hi, I am…"
The night was uneventful, at least for me. Swedish Girl might disagree, especially since she was on the receiving end of an icy glance from the mother when the mom was told that it took a long time for the baby to fall asleep. I’m not sure I’m ready to go solo, but if you’re looking for a trustworthy co-sitter, Cool Jesus is for hire.
The next day was much more adventurous and much more monumental. Swedish Girl and Cool Jesus went to Six Flags New England. Not only had I not been to an amusement park in well over 10 years, but I hadn’t been on a roller coaster in 20 years. I would ride them as a boy, but something must have happened around the time I was 8 years old (maybe it was the man who died when he fell out of one at Lincoln Park?) and I never went near them again. So, I went to Six Flags under duress, planning on sticking to the Ferris Wheel (which is massively enormous there, by the way) and the tilt-a-whirl. Once there, I went on the first ride under strict protest. I intended on merely waiting in the 40-minute line with Swedish Girl and then waving good-bye as she boarded the death rocket. Some kissing and pleading wore down my defenses and before I knew it, I was strapped into Flashback. Incidentally, I’m just now getting the feeling back in my sack region. Those freakin’ sadists love jamming that over-the-shoulder restraint square into the unsuspecting crotch of all men.
Something happened to me while I was on Flashback. Around the time I was wondering if my Johnson was still functional and before I yelled out "I just peed my pants!!!" I realized I was enjoying myself. Of course, I couldn’t admit this to Swedish Girl. I had to remain resolute in my toughness. Naturally, she saw right through that sham because I suddenly became eager to ride more coasters. In all, we probably spent 6 hours waiting in line for 9 or 10 minutes of action. If my memory serves me, we rode Flashback, Scream, Time Warp, Mind Eraser, Superman – Ride of Steel, Poison Ivy’s Tangled Train (we got lost looking for Batman and ended up at this kiddie coaster), Batman – The Dark Knight, Flashback again (because the brand new Mr. Six’s Pandemonium line was way too long).
We took about 20 minutes to have a full-color caricature done of us. If it wasn’t such a righteously kitschy keepsake, then I’d say it was perhaps a waste of $26, if only because the likeness of Swedish Girl looks nothing like her. However, she is adamant that my likeness looks just like me. If so, then why hasn’t anyone ever told me that I have the jawline of Jay Leno?
To sum up: I’m the Commonwealth’s best assistant babysitter, don’t leave champagne out when I’m around (shhhh…), my voice is shot and my throat is sore from yelling so much, I look like Jay Leno and John Travolta (circa Saturday Night Fever) had a love child, and I can’t wait to strap myself into another death rocket.