My Life as a Blundering Ballerina by Bill Myers

Author:Bill Myers
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

“What are we doing here?” I asked Sylvia. We were standing outside on the porch of a stranger’s house. “It’s seven o’clock at night. I should be home by now.”

“Not yet, McBrainless.”

Sylvia reached over and rapped on the door again.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

“Whose place is this, anyway?” I demanded. “Why are we here?”

“This is the Frankensterns. Wall Street baby-sits here every Thursday.”

“Baby-sits!” I cried. “I don’t know the first thing about—”

Just then the front door opened and there stood Francine, the human allergy machine. At least I thought it was Francine. It was kinda hard to tell with all the pillows being bashed over her head and all the kids climbing on top of her.

“You are sniff several minutes tardy!” she shouted over the screaming babies and blaring TV.

“Sorry,” Sylvia yelled, “Wally gave a special performance at the theater!”

“I hope it was satisfactory,” Francine sniffed then ducked just in time to dodge a flying Barbie minivan.

“Let’s just say the place was cooking!” Sylvia shouted.

“Well, come in!” Francine yelled, as she opened the door.

Reluctantly, I stepped inside. Now, I don’t want to say the kids were tearing up the place, but the living room was definitely untidy in a major nuclear holocaust kind of way. Two kids were practicing their mountain climbing on Francine, another was using a felt pen to connect all the flowers on the living room wallpaper, another was playing ‘barber’ with the family poodle. (Or was it a pet rat? At this stage it was pretty hard to tell.) Then, of course, there were the usual pillow fights (complete with split pillow cases and flying feathers) and a baby screaming her head off.

“How many kids do they have?” I shouted.

“Six or sniff seven. It’s hard to—DUCK!”

We all ducked just in time to avoid a flying six-year-old who had launched himself through the air by using a nearby ceiling fan.

“They haven’t eaten yet,” Francine shouted as we climbed back to our feet, “but all the directions are on the kitchen counter!” She quickly headed toward the door.

Sylvia followed. “We’ll be by to pick you up at ten!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“Ten o’clock?” I cried. “That’s three hours! You’re not going to leave me here all alone for three hours!”

Sylvia turned back to me. “Alone?”

I nodded, lost in helplessness.

“No way, we’re not leaving you alone.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’ll have all six of these cuties to keep you company,” she snickered.

“Or seven,” Francine corrected.

They were halfway out the door and shutting it when I shouted, “Wait a minute! You can’t just leave me here. I don’t know how to baby-sit. I mean, what if I do something wrong? What if I accidentally injure them or something?”

Sylvia turned back to me one last time. “You injure them?”

I nodded yes desperately.

“I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong, McDorkel. If there’s anybody going to be injured in this house, it ain’t going to be the kids.” With that she shut the door (not, of course, without a chilling, sinister laugh).

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