I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s Eve. Perhaps my distaste for the occasion stems from unrealistic expectations. Maybe I associate it with mediocre parties, painful hangovers or failed resolutions.

Or, maybe I’m reminded of my adolescent years and all those lousy babysitting jobs.

For teenagers, New Year’s Eve is an employment opportunity. Parents everywhere are desperate to find teenage suckers they can ply with minimal hourly wages and stale Christmas cookies to spend long hours watching their unruly children.

Worse yet, these parents, knowing they plan to be elsewhere, pitch the night to their children like this: “Hey kids, Mommy and Daddy are going out, but the babysitter is gonna let you have your own New Year’s Eve party right here at home! We’ve supplied you with treats that will make you intolerably hyper! And, we’ve provided noisemakers and messy confetti, so you can drive the babysitter to the brink of insanity! Sure, stay up past midnight, as long as you’re in bed before we get home!”

In my teens, I took these substandard babysitting jobs every year, because, frankly, all my friends were babysitting on New Year’s Eve, and I had nothing better to do.

I recall one December 31st when I showed up at my employer’s home at the appointed hour, the house smelling of aftershave and Totino’s frozen pizza. The two children whom I’d babysat before, Ben (6) and Abby (4), were quite well-behaved. But on this night, their cousin, Ricky (7), was over for a visit, and I was expected to watch him, too. They wore metallic crowns with their footed pajamas, and ran in circles, blowing noisemakers — the kind with a long paper tube that unrolls with each blow.

While Ben and Abby took turns showing me their Christmas presents while blasting me in the face with noisemakers, Ricky glanced at me sideways from a shadowy corner.

Ben and Abby’s mom finally descended the staircase wearing a sparkly dress. While Mr. White helped Mrs. White on with her coat, she gave final instructions, “Lisa, there’s pizza in the oven and plenty of treats. They can go to bed after the ball drops. Kids, you listen to Miss Lisa, OK?” Abby dimpled with anticipation.

The closing of the front door lured Ricky out of the shadows. Suddenly, he whipped something at the wall. It was one of those gooey, gelatinous toys with arms like a spider. Abby emitted an ear-piercing scream as the slimy toy walked its way down the wallpaper.

“Cool, Ricky,” I said cautiously. He scanned my face, seemingly disappointed that I wasn’t either disgusted or terrified. He skulked away to devise a new strategy.

Once the pizza was baked, a feeding frenzy ensued. The kids’ faces and hands were soon plastered with tomato sauce, sticky grape soda, chocolate and cookie crumbs. While I chased them with wet paper towels, they raged with new vigor, fueled by the fresh injection of sugar. Garbed in tinsel hats and blowing horns, they darted around the living room as if the house was on fire, squealing like baby pigs.

“I’ve got five more hours of this?” I thought, mortified.

It soon became clear that Ricky’s secret mission was to embody the reincarnation of Caligula. He plotted and schemed, using Ben and Abby as unwitting pawns, whispering in their ears while looking side-eyed at me. For hours I wrangled these tiny humans, finally becoming so exhausted, I lied and said I had a very important phone call to make.

“Patrice, they’re driving me nuts!” I cried to my best friend, who was babysitting at another house in town. We vented to each other for the next 30 minutes, until Ricky, aka Caligula II, threw the gooey spider into my very big ‘80s hair.

Needless to say, the mongrels were in bed before midnight.

“Thanks, Lisa,” Mr. White said, dropping me at home in the wee hours of January 1st. He handed me my hard-earned wage — 10 bucks. A dollar an hour, plus tip.

Times have changed since then, but a good babysitter on New Year’s Eve will always be priceless.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com