It’s Friday evening and I’m sitting on the couch after dinner and I’m watching the boys practice the ancient art of gladiator fighting with each other and I’m thinking to myself, what I wouldn’t pay for a great meal and a few glasses of wine with Jenn.  It got me thinking.  I need to find a babysitter.  I don’t mean need in the metaphorical sense either.  I NEED a babysitter.  I need a babysitter like I need a lung or a kidney (you do need a kidney, right?) or a heart.  I need a babysitter like I need oxygen, water and my Joe Walsh Greatest Hits CD.  I say all that to post this conversation:

Dave: “I’m going to post a plea for a babysitter on my blog.”

Jenn:” It’s not going to help, everyone who reads that lives in New York.”

Dave: “I think one or two people from work read it.”

Jenn: “DO IT!

Anyone have a recommendation.  Serial killers will not be accepted unless they’ve played in the NFL or are really sorry for their crimes.