After a wild living-room square dance with Julia to the sweet strains of, "Git 'long home, little Cindy," I lay down in the middle of the floor until the world around me stopped spinning. Katharine, who exercises a constant vigilance lest I fall asleep on the job, immediately begin tugging at me, one little hand grabbing my shirt and the other grabbing my ear. "Get up! Get up!" she cried, adding, in explanation, "You're my daddy!" "I know I'm you're daddy," I moaned, "but I'm dizzy." "No!" she contradicted. "You're not Disney! You're not a princess Disney!"
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