When A Child Is Locked In The

Never Accept A Drink From A Urologist.

The Family. We Are A Strange Little Band Of Characters Trudging Through Life Sharing Diseases And Toothpaste, Coveting One Another's Desserts, Hiding Shampoo, Borrowing Money, Locking Each Other Out Of Our Rooms. . . And Trying To Figure Out The Common Thread That Bound Us All Together.

Last Year I Gave Seventy-four Phone Hours To Soliciting Baked Goods For The Bake-a-rama. I Was Named Top Call Girl By The League.

We Even Switched To A Newly-formed Church Across The Town That Gave One Hundred And Twenty Trading Stamps Each Time We Attended. (we Now Worship A Brown And White Chicken With A Sunburst On Its Chest.)

The Grass Is Always Greener Over The Septic Tank.