around before. He said "Hi, sport" to old Tom and tousled his hair. There was an awful lot of hair tousling going on lately, if you ask me. When Dave Guthrie was looking in another direction, Ms. Cameron smoothed old Tom's hair back into its neatly barbered little arrangement.
Ms. Cameron gave the number where she would be, I tucked it into the pocket of my backpack, and off they went after she had planted a lot of teeny-weeny tasteful kisses around her son's head and shoulders. She had already given me lots of not kisses but instructions: nourishing supper, dutiful bath, no TV, two bedtime stories (nonviolent), diligent brushing of teeth, lighting of nightlight, and tucking in at eight P.M. sharp.
I planned to ignore all of her instructions.
With great chortles of glee we dumped the little meat loaf and the little baked potatoes and the little salads down the little garbage disposal, which ate them up with little crunching sounds. Then we had a grossly loaded pizza delivered. It cost me nine dollars, but what the heck; this was a special night, and I'd already banked almost ninety dollars of babysitting money this summer.
By the time we had both pigged out on pizza, it was after seven. Four and a half hours to go.
"Tickling time!" said Tom Terrific, and he lunged at my armpits.
We rolled around on the living room floor for a while, tickling and giggling, until we were afraid we'd barf up nine dollars' worth of pizza.
I tried to think of dopey things that I liked to do when I was younger.
"Hey, Terrific," I said. "You want to make some phone calls?"
He shook his head solemnly. "I'm not allowed to touch the telephone," he said.
"You watch then," I told him. "And listen." I picked up the telephone book, turned to a page at random, and dialed a stranger's number.
"Is your refrigerator running?" I asked in a serious voice when someone answered the phone. "You'd better run after it before it gets away!" I said next, then hung up quickly.
Tom Terrific looked at me in absolute amazement and delight. "Did they say yes?" he asked. "Did they say their refrigerator was running?"
I nodded.
He began to laugh. "And then you said, 'You'd better run after it!' Do it again!"
I did it again, twice more, to unsuspecting people, and Tom threw himself on the couch, roaring with laughter. "You tricked them!" he cried. "Let me do it!"
I picked out another number and reached toward the telephone. "No, let me!" said Tom. "I can read numbers. Tell me the numbers and let me do them!"
So he dialed carefully, and in a scared, awed voice he said, "Is your refrigerator running?"
Then, with more confidence, in a deeper voice he said, "Better run after it before it gets away!" He put the receiver down and stood there, holding his hands over his mouth, astonished and pleased that he had done a forbidden thing, that he had played a trick.
He did it again and again until the novelty wore off. By then it was eight o'clock. Less than four hours to go.
"Eight o'clock," I said without thinking, looking at my watch.
Tom Terrific's face fell. "Bedtime," he said sadly. "I was spozed to have my bath at seven-thirty."
At some point I was going to have to tell my little buddy that he wasn't going to bed tonight. I looked at him. There were pizza remains on his chin and nose. Well, a bath would kill a little more time.
"Come on," I said. "Upstairs for your bath. Want to make it a bubble bath?"
"What's that?" asked Tom Terrific.
What's
that?
What's a bubble bath? Can you imagine a four-year-old kid who never in his life
has had a bubble bath? Talk about underprivileged!
I tried to explain about the fun of being surrounded by bubbles.
"I don't think I'm allowed to do that," he said apprehensively.
"Tonight you are," I told him, and I went to the kitchen and got a bottle of dishwashing liquid. Great for bubbles.
Watching Tom Terrific's face as the bubbles appeared in the bathtub was just as good as watching the kid in the movie when E.T. appeared
Ms. Cameron gave the number where she would be, I tucked it into the pocket of my backpack, and off they went after she had planted a lot of teeny-weeny tasteful kisses around her son's head and shoulders. She had already given me lots of not kisses but instructions: nourishing supper, dutiful bath, no TV, two bedtime stories (nonviolent), diligent brushing of teeth, lighting of nightlight, and tucking in at eight P.M. sharp.
I planned to ignore all of her instructions.
With great chortles of glee we dumped the little meat loaf and the little baked potatoes and the little salads down the little garbage disposal, which ate them up with little crunching sounds. Then we had a grossly loaded pizza delivered. It cost me nine dollars, but what the heck; this was a special night, and I'd already banked almost ninety dollars of babysitting money this summer.
By the time we had both pigged out on pizza, it was after seven. Four and a half hours to go.
"Tickling time!" said Tom Terrific, and he lunged at my armpits.
We rolled around on the living room floor for a while, tickling and giggling, until we were afraid we'd barf up nine dollars' worth of pizza.
I tried to think of dopey things that I liked to do when I was younger.
"Hey, Terrific," I said. "You want to make some phone calls?"
He shook his head solemnly. "I'm not allowed to touch the telephone," he said.
"You watch then," I told him. "And listen." I picked up the telephone book, turned to a page at random, and dialed a stranger's number.
"Is your refrigerator running?" I asked in a serious voice when someone answered the phone. "You'd better run after it before it gets away!" I said next, then hung up quickly.
Tom Terrific looked at me in absolute amazement and delight. "Did they say yes?" he asked. "Did they say their refrigerator was running?"
I nodded.
He began to laugh. "And then you said, 'You'd better run after it!' Do it again!"
I did it again, twice more, to unsuspecting people, and Tom threw himself on the couch, roaring with laughter. "You tricked them!" he cried. "Let me do it!"
I picked out another number and reached toward the telephone. "No, let me!" said Tom. "I can read numbers. Tell me the numbers and let me do them!"
So he dialed carefully, and in a scared, awed voice he said, "Is your refrigerator running?"
Then, with more confidence, in a deeper voice he said, "Better run after it before it gets away!" He put the receiver down and stood there, holding his hands over his mouth, astonished and pleased that he had done a forbidden thing, that he had played a trick.
He did it again and again until the novelty wore off. By then it was eight o'clock. Less than four hours to go.
"Eight o'clock," I said without thinking, looking at my watch.
Tom Terrific's face fell. "Bedtime," he said sadly. "I was spozed to have my bath at seven-thirty."
At some point I was going to have to tell my little buddy that he wasn't going to bed tonight. I looked at him. There were pizza remains on his chin and nose. Well, a bath would kill a little more time.
"Come on," I said. "Upstairs for your bath. Want to make it a bubble bath?"
"What's that?" asked Tom Terrific.
What's
that?
What's a bubble bath? Can you imagine a four-year-old kid who never in his life
has had a bubble bath? Talk about underprivileged!
I tried to explain about the fun of being surrounded by bubbles.
"I don't think I'm allowed to do that," he said apprehensively.
"Tonight you are," I told him, and I went to the kitchen and got a bottle of dishwashing liquid. Great for bubbles.
Watching Tom Terrific's face as the bubbles appeared in the bathtub was just as good as watching the kid in the movie when E.T. appeared
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