I had my daughter, Littlebit, for Easter weekend. We had a grand time; saw a movie, went shopping, had a grill out on Saturday night, and then there was Easter. Easter for my family is a loud sprawling affair, my parent's have six children and fourteen grandchildren. Every year twenty eight hands rip up Mom's azaleas and drive Dad to the guest house. It really is a grand time out.

By Monday we were tired. Point of fact, Littlebit was showing no signs of wear, I was tired. I took Monday off and, the bond market being what it was, it didn't really affect my income. I had a sore throat, I think saying "Well, Love, I think we've had enough chocolate" a hundred and eleven times an hour had given me some repetitive stress injury in my larynx.

So Monday afternoon I was having a blissful slice of quiet time while Littlebit painted a startling still-life of a little girl and an enormous ladybug in the bath, when the phone rang.

It was the ex-wife, Littlebit's mother. She called to tell me she was at the doctor's office and she had strep throat and I needed to take Littlebit to her doctor and have her mouth swabbed. "She feels fine, absolutely full of beans." I said, truly not wanting to get off the couch. I had no idea that at that very moment she was bent over the exam table, pants down, getting a shot in the rear. Littlebit's mother is what her friends call "excitable" when it comes to her child. Her friend's husbands call it "psychotic". Whatever they call it, I can't say I was pressed when she called. However, I didn't want this to come back and bite me in any legal sense. This was the same woman who, under oath, claimed I was a transvestite for wearing a kilt to a Halloween party.

So to the doctor's office we went. The issue I have with a pediatrician's office is that anyone with children knows it's a cesspool in there. Don't touch anything, if you were well going in, you'll be sick on the way out. Toys, soft toys that feel good in the mouth, were all over the place to make sure the spit-borne crud gets transferred along with the airborne.

The only ones there with us were a very cute little girl with pig-tails coming out of her skull like sputnik and a very tired looking mother. The little one was a curious thing who appeared to be leaking.

During World War II, transport troops would avoid land mines by keeping to the worn tracks of trucks before them that had not, in fact, blown up. In war time as well as peace, not being blown up is something

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