Tuesday 200 — #80
My new manny gig is great. The boys were a handful at first, but boundary testing’s to be expected. Especially with 8-year-olds whose penchant for storytelling has caused parental distrust.
The after-school crew were on great form last Thursday, tossing frisbee and playing tag. I reckoned the boys’ popularity came from a combination of their Texas accents and the novelty of being identical twins.
I was chatting with the Connaught Square pram squad — the usual mixture of moms, nannies, and multi-cultural munchkins. The VIPs had moved in several months ago, so nobody gave a second thought to heightened security. Then Travis (or maybe Tyler … that mole on Ty’s neck is the only way to distinguish them) offended one of the Muslim girls. Shouting, shoving, and tears ensued.
Not being able to get a straight answer during their time-out, I pointed to Chez Blair’s machine gun toters.
“Know what they do?”
They looked at each other then shook their heads.
“They shoot mean boys. That horrible looking one on the left? His son’s in Iraq. He blames your President.” A salute to my Met buddies was dutifully returned. “You want to make them mad?”
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