Children can be evil. And that particular sardonic comment was not born of a coffeeless mind, either. I mean it.

The Wife™ and I have a standing engagement to babysit her two nieces each Tuesday. At the onset, I saw it as a great opportunity to play XBox on a 90” projection screen interact with kids on a limited basis, where we could simply leave when we were done, handing them back with a gleeful, “here you go…have fun with that!” How else would you get to play with babies and then leave the dirty diapers, temper tantrums and spilled chocolate milk behind? That’s just like parenthood, right? No?

Anyway, we’ve been doing this for six months or so and the one thing that has changed is that attitude of the four year old. And by “changed” I simply mean that I’ve gone from looking forward to Tuesday with optimistic anticipation to more of a level like “maybe we could stay home, do our taxes and I can put some more bleach in my eye?!” That’s about where I’m at with it now.

Last night we had a very, very special time. Very. Special. The Princess’ new phrase de jour is apparently “yea riiight…” in which plants a hand on her hip and rolls her eyes so dramatically I’m convinced the next time they’ll get stuck, at which point I’ll point and laugh harder than I have in a long time. Because that’s what uncles do.

I’m not sure where this little twerp learned such staginess, but judging by both the severity and flair in which it is delivered, I’m guessing her theatrical influences could range from the self-rigteous indignation of Delta Burke in Designing Women to the hollowed-out emotional delivery of Paris Hilton in…well, whatever it is that Paris Hilton does. Hand flailing, bossing, directing, mimicking. She does it all. A veritable da Vinci of sass. List night, when she sidestepped one of my mildly authoritative requests with yet another “yea riiiight,” I calmly asked her to be polite, at which point she looked me dead in the eye and began chattermumbling in the most mocking tone I’ve ever heard escape from a kid’s mouth. When I told her to knock THAT off, she merely shrugged and walked away. OH NO YOU DIDN’T. I’VE GOT AT LEAST TWO FEET ON YOU SISTER.

Perhaps my problem is that I refuse to bow to the will of someone shorter than me. And seeing as it takes a very special person to play that role, children are not excluded. I should probably be more understanding, but I don’t care what your parents do or don’t do for discipline. I don’t care if they fail to call you on your rudeness. The next time you stand in your living room and DIRECT ME to leave the room, taking your alternately hysterically wailing and farting five-month-old sister with me, just so that you can watch your movie in peace…forget it Jack. This is how those hobags on MTV’s My Super Sweet 16 start off. And I ain’t going out like that.

I understand that four is an age where it’s likely common to test boundaries and push buttons to see where authority lies. BUT YOU’RE FOUR. The beauty of that age to us adults is that you don’t get to decide when The Wife™ has had enough popcorn. You aren’t the one to dictate what magazine I read and you sure as hell are not in a position to negotiate your bedtime. Next week I’m showing up wearing a shirt that says, “I waited a long time for this. You’ll get your turn in 25 years.” Apparently, though, this is shot-calling is standard practice for the midget.

And as I hear my sister-in-law tell me other horror stories about The Princess and her behavior, I find myself not laughing or chuckling in amusement. Sure it must be hard to discipline your child, to turn that developmental train around and risk having your child hate you. I haven’t been there. But I cannot imagine what this little diva is going to be like at age 13, let alone age five. And I guess I’d rather risk a power class now, knowing that later she just could run away because she no longer needs someone to make that chocolate milk for her.

I don’t know. The entire thing has made me question wanting to have children. Ever. Perhaps The Wife™ and I will just take that that supposed $400,000 that it takes to raise a kid and buy a bigass TV and the box set of Designing Women, sit on the beach somewhere and relax. I know my blood pressure would benefit.