"Okay, angel, you be a good girl for your sitter. Will you promise me that?" He tossed Jenny in the air and she squealed with delight.

"Oh, be careful!" cried Mrs. Prezzioso. "Her new dress . . . and your new ascot. Nick, please."

(What's an ascot?)

Mr. P. returned Jenny safely to the ground. "Well, let's go. Thanks for coming over, Mary Lou."

"Mary Anne," Jenny corrected him.

Mrs. P. stood in front of her husband. She straightened his tie, adjusted his jacket, and arranged the handkerchief in his pocket so that it was absolutely straight and the monogram was perfectly centered.

Then she turned around and stood next to her husband. "How do we look?" she asked me.

I glanced at Jenny. Jenny was watching me.

I blushed. "You look. ..." Somehow "very nice" didn't sound like enough. "You look like a picture out of a magazine," I finally said. And they did, all posed and stiff.

Mrs. P. appeared confused, but recovered quickly. "Why, thank you, dear."

There was a pause. "You're welcome," I said, to fill the silence.

"Now, we'll be at the Elliot Taggarts' this

afternoon," said Mrs. Prezzioso. "Their number is written on the message board in the kitchen, and the emergency numbers are right next to the phone. If we're not home by six o'clock, you can give Jenny a sandwich for supper."

"Okay," I said. Jenny and I walked her parents to the back door. "Have fun!" I called, as they climbed into their car.

I closed the door and leaned against it for a few seconds. "Well," I said to Jenny, "what do you want to do first?"

Jenny flopped on the couch in the playroom and pouted. "Nothing."

"Oh, come on," I said brightly, "there must be something you want to do. We have two hours to play."

Jenny stuck out her lower lip and shook her head. "Unh-unh."

"Well, in that case," I said, "I'll just play with the Kid-Kit by myself."