Darcey

This week I had the pleasure of babysitting my grandparent’s nine-year-old neighbor. Her name is Darcey, she’s an only child, she’s spoiled absolutely rotten, and she wants to be Hannah Montana. I didn’t have to watch her for very long; I only had to pick her up from school at 3:00 and then take her to church at 5:00 for bells practice, but from past experience, I knew that I wanted to spend as little time as possible at her house. I therefore took her to get ice cream. We passed quite a bit of time there, but we eventually had to leave. When we got to her house, everything was the same as it has always been: all five hundred or so of her Barbie dolls lined up in a row by the fireplace next to her four-story Barbie house, her fluffy purple butterfly chair in the middle of the floor, and the coffee table covered with Disney princess dolls and their pets. Her parents have let her take over their house. Anyway, Darcey was wearing a pretty pink Hannah Montana outfit with her pretty blonde hair flowing down her back, while I was wearing blue jeans, an old T-shirt, big tennis shoes, and my brown hair was up in a messy bun. Darcey immediately went to the stereo to put in her Hannah Montana CD to give me a concert. She is quite the performer. Darcey knew every word and every dance move, and it was not acceptable for the crowd (me) to be sitting down. I was to stand up and dance with her. I am nineteen years old and I like to think myself a confident young woman. However, as I was practically being forced to dance around the living room with this pretty blonde nine-year-old and all her pretty Disney princess dolls, I was very aware of my appearance. I was actually jealous of the little girl that I was babysitting. I couldn’t believe it. I was just like the evil stepmother in Snow White!