The other day someone asked me for the 67,890,234th time if I was Archer's nanny. She was a pretty woman. Mid-thirties. Very pregnant. Neurotic. I saw her eyeing me from across the street for a few minutes, before crossing over quickly, shuffling in her Coach loafers and turtleneck dress.

 "Excuse me."

 "Sure."

 "...Are you this child's nanny?"

I would have said no. I usually say no. In my neighborhood, mothers seldom push their own children down the street at lunch hour on a weekday. Around here, the Nannies populate the street in large herds, bulldozing through crowds with their employer's Bugaboos.

I am young in comparison to many a local mommy. But I look even younger. A teen mother? A nanny? EHHH. None of the above.

 ...So I lied.

 "Yeah. Totally. I'm the nanny."

"Oh good! I didn't think you were the mother. You and the baby don't look anything alike, but you never know."

 "Yeah. Thanks. I love being a nanny."

 "What's your name?"

 Um. Um. Um... "Kiki"

 "Hello Kiki, I'm So-in-so Waspypants. How often do you nanny for this boy?"

 "Right now, pretty much every single day. His parents work A LOT so watching him is kind of all I do right now."

 "Shame. I wanted to hire you. Or at least meet with you to discuss further." She looked around and then with her mouth practically around my ear, she whispered, "You see, I want a nanny who speaks English."

 "Yes. Well I speak English."

 "I see that. Where were you schooled”?

 "The School of Hard Knox BITCH Yale."

 "Well, I don't know what they're paying you but..."

 "They pay me very well."

 She suddenly got very serious and almost in a whisper, spat, "I can pay you more."

 "Wow. Really?"

 She nodded fiercely. "It's not really an issue for us, if you know what I mean."

 "Actually, I don't. Student loans to pay off... I'm always broke. Heh."

 "Oh! Ha ha ha ha ha. You're a riot, Kiki..."

 "Montparnasse. Kiki Montparnasse."

 "French?"

 "Very. But like I said, English is my first langauge."

 Just then Archer started to cry. And twitch and tantrum and kick his legs and arch his back. (Perfect timing, dude.)

 "Is there a number I can call to reach you? Maybe we can discuss this at a later time? You look like you have your hands full."

 "Yeah... Actually, here." I handed her one of the many bent-up business cards I'd collected over the last eighteen months, from other nannies offering their services. "Go ahead and call my nanny-pimp."

I walked away half-wishing I could take her up on her offer.

Let's just say I wasn't exactly lying about the "broke" part.

***