Maddy O’Reilly should have never been the babysitter, and that family should have never had a baby.
She clacks up to the doorstep of her Encino client’s home wearing high heels and a short red dress. She carries a tiny bag. For his part, having just met this babysitter, her charge’s dad leaves almost immediately.Her steps echo through the home, uncarpeted and devoid of toys.
Not only that, but when she starts masturbating (because what else is there to do without even seeing the baby?), her labe are shadowed by the director’s head.
I don’t know about you, but when I was a barely legal teen alone in someone else’s house, I searched that shit. But I was also responsible and skeptical; I wouldn’t have taken anyone’s word for it that there was a baby sleeping in the next room. I would have said “Yeah? Well let me just CHECK. I’ve been burned before, Jack.”
I expect better from a company called Reality Junkies. They are not being courageous and subverting the paradigm by casting Maddy O’Reilly as a babysitter; they are saying “We expect you to suspend your disbelief so much that someone actually trips on it.”
For we all know that babysitters need to be rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed, and plump teens like the one that made me a man, not this runway model who couldn’t care less where the baby was.