In The Weeds: The Nanny Diaries
Next week will mark the one-year anniversary of my firing from The Capital Grille for writing this blog. Considering I haven’t held out my hand while someone gifts me with their gum in a cocktail napkin, apologized to a guest for not being able to produce carrot cake for dessert when it’s never been on the menu, or been asked to recite the 13 ingredients in the chopped salad in nearly a year, I think I’ve milked this serving blog boob for a pretty long time.
I will continue to post restaurant musings when they come to me, but I always write my best stuff when I’m simply writing about what I know and experience without trying to fit it into a certain category. If you have a spouse, a mortgage, a job, a disbelief that you might indeed never be famous, a love affair with food and wine, a borderline road rage issue, an addiction to coffee, an aversion to child rearing despite loving your children, a secret reality show fetish, a Netflix account, an evangelical mother, an atheist father, a hatred of insurance companies, an obsession with NPR’s This American Life, a distaste for Oprah’s very pushy No Phone Zone pledge or a tendency to laugh when other people fall and hurt themselves, then I think you may still enjoy reading my stuff. I hope so anyway.
For today, I want to talk about hot nannies. I was able to watch a screening of Sex and the City 2 tonight, and without giving away plot points, the movie raised the issue of attractive nannies. I am confident enough in myself and know myself well enough to say unequivocally that I would certainly hire a hot nanny if she had the proper qualifications and training, loved the children and was a good fit for our family. Oops…I left out some key words in that last sentence. It should have read that I would certainly NEVER hire a hot nanny EVEN if she had the proper qualifications and training, AND ESPECIALLY IF she loved the children and EVEN WORSE if she was a good fit for our family.
I still clearly remember meeting a mom in my new neighborhood shortly after moving to KC from Chicago. As we sat at her kitchen island and drank coffee, the back door opened and in walked an amazingly beautiful creature who looked to be around 22 years old. She had perfect blond hair pulled into a ponytail, short exercise shorts showing her toned legs, no make-up and the face of a supermodel. “Oh, hi Kelly!” said my new friend. Turning to me, she said, “This is Kelly, our nanny.” I tried not to creep Kelly out with too much staring, and mumbled something about it being nice to meet her. As she bounded up the stairs to check on the kids, I couldn’t help myself. “Are you serious? That’s your nanny? Are you insane? Don’t you travel for work while she stays here?”
She said, “What? Because she’s pretty? I trust my husband. He loves me.”
“I love being thin and not diabetic, but if you put a gallon a Baskin Robbins peanut butter-chocolate in front of me every night, good sense is eventually gonna lose. Better to avoid unnecessary temptation at all costs.”
I wondered if I was just too insecure, but then realized it didn’t matter. You can call me insecure, but you can’t call me stupid. A few months later as I was interviewing nannies, I called up my sister and asked, “Would it be wrong of me to not hire someone because I thought she was too much of a Jesus freak? I’m down to two candidates and can’t decide.” My sister said, “If they are both qualified, just pick the ugliest one.” My sister isn’t stupid either.
Here is my vision of the ideal nanny:
Here is my husband’s vision of the ideal nanny:
Here is my version of compromise:
I’m sure that most people would say I need to trust my husband and demonstrate a little more self confidence. Horse shit. Would he trust me with a “manny” like this?
(I heart you, Josh Duhamel).
So, tell me dear readers, would attractiveness play any role in your domestic hiring decisions?