Poison

"Poison" is the name of the perfume by Christian Dior that once resided in a fancy purple glass bottle with a clear glass lid. Less than five minutes after our arrival home from church, as I was just starting the mass production of chocolate sandwiches, Fallon, number four of the five children I'll be watching until Friday evening came up to me and handed me Poison. Empty. With the lid gently placed back in position. With a Q-tip inside. She looked up at me as if waiting for a thank you after her discovery. I don't know the worth of the perfume. Or how much was in there. But I do know that her breath smelt like a woman ready for a night of dancing. I panicked. Within five minutes I had killed their little girl. I sent the other kids downstairs and searched for the Ipecac. I couldn't find any. I called my mom. No answer. I called her cell phone. No answer. I called Sandy. She said it was probably fine, to give her milk and to call 911 and talk to Poison Control. I poured Fallon some milk as I called 911.
"911 Emergency. How can I help you?"
"My little girl swallowed some perfume. Could you please connect me to Poison Control?"
"Is she vomiting?"
"No."
"Does she look sick?"
"No."
"Do you want me to send an emergency vehicle to look her over?"
"No. I think she'll be okay. I just want to talk to Poison Control to make sure."
"Okay, I'll connect and when they answer I'll talk first."
"Okay."
"Poison Control. How can I help you?"
"I have a mother on the line who's little girl drank perfume. Go ahead." (She hangs up. I stop for a second to try to understand why it was that she had to talk first to say absolutely nothing I couldn't have said.)
"How old is your little girl?"
"4."
"What did she drink?"
"Poison. It's the name of the perfume she drank ironically enough."
"Well, perfume is alcohol based with a few oils in it. It would just be irritable to their mouth."
"Didn't seem to phase her any."
"Is she in good health normally?"
"No, she has Down syndrome and a bad heart."
"Huh. Okay. Ya, well... she probably won't even throw up. Did you give her some milk?"
"Yes."
"Okay, well she should be fine. If she starts acting funny or getting sick give us a call back."
"I will. Thank you."

And that was my first day on the job. Poison and 911. I'm ready for my bad mommy award...