Dear Tiny Five-Year-Old

I know you may not take an interest in what I have to say, or maybe even read it, but just hear me out. This is important.

I'm sure you won't understand until you've been there, but there is a certain pain unlike any other pain in the world.

Your legs are relatively short, and on the end of them are attached your tiny little feet that somewhat resemble pebbles one might find on a beach.

Some might say your stubby little walking implements resemble a small but very dangerous sledgehammer, and I concur. Now, we come on to the problem.

When I babysit you and your 'darling' baby sister, I expect to look after you for an hour or so, then send you up to bed, return downstairs and help myself to the contents of your fridge.

Most small children of your age are fearful of babysitters, and will do whatever they say without question. But you are different. I assure you, next time I will come equipped with holy water, a young priest and an old priest, you little cherub.

When I told you to go to bed last night, you didn't seem to understand that I wasn't asking you. I was telling you. And although I was patient and promised to read you a story, get you some juice and fill up your hot water bottle, you - instead of smiling and allowing me to provide you with such comforts - proceeded to scream the house down, waking your baby sister, and causing me to have to go and calm her down. After what was frankly an embarrassing occurence, I thought maybe you would have settled down when I returned. But oh no.

Your tiny little sledge-hammer resembling leg was thrust swiftly and forcefully into my genitals. And that made me want to hurt you. But I am a responsible babysitter, so instead, I just took a moment to calm down and allow you to apologise. You didn't. So, instead, I was forced to send you to your 'new bedroom', and rather than help myself to the contents of your fridge, help myself to some ice from your freezer.

Now, your parents seem to think it was wrong of me to make you sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, and they consistently call me and demand to speak to me. I will not oblige, and instead, I think it is fair that you explain to them why you were locked in a room all night with only a can of dog food - the wet stuff - for sustenance.

I hope that you have learnt a valuable lesson.

Yours sincerely,

Tom Rippon.

PS. I look forward to the next time I babysit you, when I take MY sledgehammer to YOUR genitals.

The End

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