INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY
The living room is clean and well-decorated. Mya, a 12-year-old girl, sits nervously on the edge of the sofa. Her phone vibrates and she answers quickly. Mrs. Thompson, a friendly but no-nonsense woman in her 40s, enters and listens in.
(on phone trying to be quiet)
What?! I said I can't talk. I am at an interview. The Thompsons. Yes, the ones with the hideously ugly dogs. I have to go. No. Do not do that. I swear Brian, I will kill you in your sleep. Don't. I will murder you and enjoy it.
Mya hangs up the phone fast as Mrs. Thompson enters the rest of the way and sits across from her with a clipboard.
Sorry for the delay. I had to run and drop my loaf in the pan.
Oh, I get it. When nature calls, you gotta do what you gotta do.
Pardon? I'm not following.
You know like an emergency evacuation. Umm, sometimes I joke and say "Gotta drop the kids off at the pool"
Mya faintly chuckles as Mrs. Thompson looks disturbed.
I was referring to my bread. I'm baking. Can't you smell it?
Ahh, that's what that smell was. I was afraid it was me. Phew!
Well, if it was you, then hopefully you would get lots of compliments. (Awkward Beat) So, Mya, tell me a little bit about yourself.
Well, um, I'm 12 years old and I, um, I really enjoy spending time with kids. But at the same time, I'm really... you know, uh, passionate about, um, birth control!
Mya realizes what she just said and panics.
No, no, I mean- I meant to say, I love being in control...of the situation! Like, when I'm babysitting. Make sense?
Mrs. Thompson raises an eyebrow.
Right. Okay, tell me about your previous babysitting experience.
Oh Yeah! Of course. So let me see. Oh! Uh, well, I babysat my little cousin once, and, um, oh boy, let me tell you- he looks adorable but he was a total demon spawn. Such a monster!
You shouldn't put such horrific labels on children. That can be extremely harmful.
(Realizes her mistake, backtracks)
No. I mean, not a monster, like, (monster noise) he was just really, um, energetic! Yeah, like a cute little Energizer Bunny, you know? (Laughs nervously) Just kept going and going and going and going.
I see. Tell me how do you handle discipline when necessary?
(Blurts out, punching fist to hand)
Oh, I'm a huge fan of handing down some Swift punishment!
I don't know how you were raised. But we do not believe in bodily injury to correct mistakes in this house. Got it?
Mya's eyes widen as she realizes her mistake.
No! Uh, yes I got it. But no, I meant, um, positive reinforcement! You know, like rewarding kids for good behavior, not punishing them for bad behavior. That's what I meant! I am sure twisted. Uh, tongue tied tonight.
Mrs. Thompson gives a skeptical look.
Do you have any experience with preparing meals for children?
(Trying to regain her composure, adding some french accent)
Uh, yes! I can cook, uh, all ze kinds of poison!
Did you say poison?
Mya covers her mouth in horror.
Did I? How embarrassing. I was trying to be cute and say it like a gross french man, 'all kinds of cuisine!"
Ha! Not poison, definitely not poison!
Mrs. Thompson's expression is a mix of disbelief and amusement.
Let's just move on. What would you do in case of an emergency?
(Blurts out on auto pilot)
Call 911 and then run for my life!
WITH the children, I would hope.
(Desperate to correct herself)
Oh, of course. With the children. So my dad's a firefighter. So that came out on pure instinct. He can be a total nazi about that stuff.
Nutso. Nut-so, nutso, nutso. Not nazi. Ew. But clearly, I mean, I'd make sure the kids were safe first and then call 911. I swear to you that I will never, ever leave them, I promise!
Mrs. Thompson chuckles, but hides it by coughing.
Well, Mya, I appreciate your honesty. Thank you for coming by.
Okay. No, thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I'm, um, sorry if I came across as, uh, weird. Or rude or anything.
Don't be silly. I'll let you know. I just have to talk it over with my gross French husband first. He would be here but this is his night to walk the hideously ugly dogs.
Mya turns red and walks quickly to leave. She trips over her own shoelace and knocks over a potted plant as she goes out the door.
Holy Crapola! I am so sorry about that. Let me help--
That's ok. Just go. Please. Just leave. Now.
Mrs. Thompson watches Mya leave, trying to suppress her laughter.
INT. LIVING ROOM - MORNING
Nellie, 7, and her Uncle Jimmy, 32, cross paths.
Hey Uncle Jimmy! Why did you get
mommy a cheese plate and flowers?
It's not her birthday.
Well, it was to say thank you. For
letting her little bro stay here
with you guys for a while - saving
me from having to sleep in that
room at Grandma's with the 300
So, I was looking all over and
couldn't find my present.
Oh your present... that's right.
Where is it? Hmmm...
Did you get me a mini-donkey?
I can't spoil the surprise. C'mon.
I bet you got the mini-donkey.
I sure did get you
I AM GETTING A MINI-DONKEY!!!
Wait, wait, wait. What would you do
with a mini-donkey anyway?
What wouldn't we do? We would
cuddle. Eat carrots and boots for
breakfast. I'd ride him to school
everyday. And make funny tiktoks
together. Both of us laughing.
(Laughs like donkey) HEE HAW HEE
HAW HEE HAW
Donkeys do not TikTok
Jimbo sure does. (then) I named him
after my favorite Uncle.
Really? That is too sweet.
Got any other nicknames? I can
name my pet iguana after you, too.
Pet Iguana. Yikes. Where is that?
At the Lizard Lounge. We can go get
him after you give me the mini-
Woah, woah, woah. I want to be on
your mom's good side. I am sure she
doesn't want a zoo in her house.
Not yet. But it'll grow on her.
I'm sorry Nellie. I can't be your
C'mon Uncle. You will be old soon.
And you don't want to look back and
say to yourself someday. (Old
voice) "My biggest regret was not
getting my favorite niece that
mini-donkey, pet iguana and talking
Wait. Talking Parrot too?
The longer this takes. The bigger
my zoo gets. You catch my drift?
Well we better go right now then.
I AM COMING FOR YOU MINI-DONKEY!
Hee Haw. Hee Haw.
No. Clomp and Hee Haw with me.
Hee Haw. Hee Haw.
INT. CLASSROOM - AFTERNOON
Gavin, a 9-year-old boy, stands in front of Mrs. Peach's desk,
his eyes blazing with determination. Mrs. Peach, a strict but
caring 40-year-old teacher, stares at him with a raised
Mrs. Peach, I want to talk to you
about some very important issues.
What's going on, Gavin?
I think it's time for major change
in this classroom. If you care at
all about the well being of your
students you will hear me out. The
third graders deserve better
Mrs. Peach nods, intrigued.
OK. I am listening. And what do you
propose we do?
Well, for starters, we should have
more recess time. Fresh air is
important to our brain function.
Not to mention the basic human need
of social interaction, especially
if we are constantly told to not
talk in class.
I hear your argument. But recess
time is often out of my hands.
There are higher forces involved in
Surely you have some say in other
crucial areas like tastier snacks.
Stale crackers and expired juice is
almost criminal. I think Tessa even
got tipsy off her juice on Monday.
How about less homework and more
field trips. We should learn
through experience and not just
books, so we can see and touch
MRS. PEACH, holding up a hand to stop him, chuckles.
Hold on there, Gavin. You sound
like you are running for office.
Maybe one day I will. But for now,
I just want to make things better
I appreciate your enthusiasm,
Gavin. But sometimes change takes
time. And compromise.
Is that funny to you?
Im not entirely sure what it means.
But I will say this. I will never
give up fighting for what's right.
Mrs. Peach smiles warmly.
I have no doubt. I can see you have
got a bright future ahead of you.
Thanks, Mrs. Peach. You're the best
Aw, Thank You Gavin. Now, go
outside and enjoy some extra recess
Compliments are a great negotiating
Noted. (Yells to friends) I DID IT!
MORE RECESS FOR EVERYBODY!
Gavin excitedly runs out of the classroom, his imagination
already buzzing with ideas on how to make the world a better
place. Mrs. Peach watches him go, a proud smile on her face.
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT
Homer, a 71-year-old man, is lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to various machines. Ethel, also 71, slowly enters the room, holding back tears.
Ethel, I'm glad you're here.
Ethel walks over to Homer, taking his hand in hers.
Homer, what's wrong? Why did you call me?
Ethel, I want you to know how much I love you. I've spent my whole life trying to be someone I thought would make you happy, but I've come to realize that it's not about that. It's about being true to myself, and loving you with everything I have.
Ethel looks at Homer with a mixture of confusion and sadness.
What are you trying to say, Homer?
I'm saying that I'm sorry for not being the man you thought I was. I'm sorry for all the times I let you down, for all the times I didn't tell you how I really felt. But now, lying here in this hospital bed, I realize that none of that matters. What matters is right now, and the love that we share.
Ethel's eyes are now filled with tears.
Oh, Homer. I never knew you felt this way.
I never knew either, until now. But I do know one thing for sure: I love you, Ethel. More than anything in this world.
Ethel leans down and kisses Homer on the forehead, tears streaming down her face.
I love you too, Homer. And I always will.
They hold hands, both of them now crying. This is a moment of catharsis, of letting go of past regrets and embracing true love.
FADE TO BLACK.