Hi Skippy,
Still loving your site. :-)
Adventures in babysitting brought on a childhood memory you might enjoy.
(And feel free to post on your blog, if you like.)
(Well maybe I will – Skippy)
I grew up in a fairly typical family: Mom, Dad, kid from previous dad (me), two permanent foster kids, two kids from that marriage. Mixed marriage, too. (Not all that accepted at the time.) We lived on a small island in the Caribbean. When my parents went out, they left us with the maid.
This maid was wonderful. But she had one failing: she couldn’t really cope with us. We were used to running free in the huge garden, and the area around our house which was semi-urban. I swear we grew up half wild.
So, she used to lock us in our room. We didn’t mind much as it was a large room and all our toys were there. But most importantly, there was a hole in the wall where the aircon unit used to be before it broke down and went for “repairs”. (Dad-speak for: we’ll never see it again. He insists on waiting for used parts. On an island. Where everything is imported. By boat, at the time.)
So we’d just climb out and play in the (even huger) backyard where the goat and the chickens were.
One of those times we got it into our heads that 40c was kinda warm-ish, and we wanted a pool.
So, we climbed back inside, put everything on high shelves. Put towels under the door and ran the garden hose inside.
1) We got a respectable pool, deep enough to actually swim in.
2) Actually, there wasn’t that much leakage.
3) Until my father, uttering the now famous words “there’s some water on the floor” opened the door.
4) We had to mop it all up ourselves, and of course we felt this was very unfair.
5) I swear I heard my father laughing his ass off when he phoned his dad.
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