Dear Aunt Slough

Miss Slough 2007 has started an agony aunt column on her blog: http://fogchicken.blogspot.com/

It puts me in mind of an incident from several years ago, which has left me still brimming with questions. So here goes... help me, Aunt Slough?

"Dear Aunt Slough,

Several years ago I found that I needed a little something extra income-wise to support my caffeine habit, and as such began to work as a babysitter several nights a week for some rich Sydney parents.

The parents, Mr and Mrs Boorish and Obnoxious (B&O) lived in a huge Victorian terrace in Glebe with their two children, Neglected (5) and Neurotic (3). I was contracted to mind N&N between 6pm and 8pm, to fill in after the nanny clocked off, on the nights Mrs B&O worked late. However, as Mr B&O would often not come back until 2am, reeking of cigarettes and alcohol, and Mrs B&O seemingly would not return home at all, I often found myself quite unable to tell Neglected and Neurotic when they'd see their parents again.

Neurotic in particular would grow alarmed as he began to suspect that he might not get his good night kiss from his parents, whereas Neglected had already found her parent subsitute in the combination of Fox Kids and her GameBoy, and provided she was left undisturbed, seemed perfectly content.

One evening, Neurotic became increasingly hysterical. He was running around on tip-toes, sobbing with pain, and screaming for Mr and Mrs B&O. After 20 minutes or so of useless reasoning, I had no choice but to switch off Fox Kids and take the GameBoy hostage, so that Neglected could translate for her brother. After her own lengthy tantrum, Neglected explained that Neurotic needed "to go poopy for dad".

I moved the conversation with N&N into the bathroom, where Neurotic flat-out refused to go near the toilet. Neglected explained once more, as I was clearly an idiot, that "Neurotic want to go poopy for dad". I explained that "Dad was not there to watch poopy", and that I had no clue when he would return. Both parents had thoughtfully turned their mobiles off.

Neurotic shot out on tippy toes, and I found him in the pantry, sobbing and pointing, apparently at the ceiling, reciting the mantra "Power Choc! Power Choc!". Neglected explained to me that Power Choc was a product, and in the pantry. We played Hot Cold, until my hand eventually strayed onto a maxi-sized tin (think Protein Powder dimensions) of something called Para-Choc. Neurotic sobbed with relief, and I sobbed with disbelief, as I discovered that the child had been screaming for chocolate-flavoured kiddy laxatives.

I refused to give Neurotic the laxatives, and after another 20 minutes in the bathroom, put both hysterical children to bed. The inevitable happened from there, with Neurotic producing more sewage than a standard household once going to sleep, and Round Two of Hysteria ensued forthwith.

By the time Mr B&O returned home, peace had returned. I told him what had occurred, which he found hilarious, but seemed to find me at fault for not simply using the laxatives. "Neurotic needs them for his constipation". He explained, having sensed that I was a moron. "But he wasn't constipated! He just wanted to go poopy for daddy! He's replaced his daddy with laxatives!". Nope - I was clearly a Moron.

So, Aunt Slough. What should I have done? In retrospect, I'm thinking that just draping Mr B&O in the poopy bedsheets on the way out might have been good, as that way Neurotic could have at least gotten his poopy to daddy. I value your thoughts.

Please help.

Dr Von Woof.