The mighty parental units have been discussing something distressing. The term they have bandied about is “babysitter.” They have whispered about it when they think I have not been paying attention. I do not understand this sudden fascination. They have also been drooling over the promise of something called surf and turf. They also talk about anniversary.
I do not know why they want me sat upon. But it is clear at this time that I am the purpose of this babysitter. That they sit upon me. I believed that they loved me, and I will not be sat upon.
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