LITMIR.BIZ

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Whatever you did to them in here, I did to them out there (my poor apron—some of these stains will never come out).

      You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. We’ll have so much fun! I’ll dress you and feed you and comb your lovely black hair (a ribbon will keep it out of your eyes). I’ll give you nice hot baths and make sure you wash behind your ears and everywhere else (little boys can get so dirty in all their little secret crannies), which reminds me, I’d better buy some cotton swabs. I’ll give you hugs and kisses morning, noon, and night. We’ll be so close. I’ll never let you out of my sight. You won’t know where you end and I begin. You and me, Little Perky, together in your mind for the rest of your days.

      You look ill…have a Koala Kough Drop. They’re eucalypti-licious! Kippy Kangaroo loves them because they pack a punch of Vitamin K to knock out those awful germs!

      Home is the loveliest word I know, Little Perky. It really is. Home. Home. Home. Home. Home.

      I’m home.

      THE FINAL BROADCAST OF SUGARVILLE’S CHANNEL 7 ACTION NEWS

      With a sweeping rush of majestic orchestra music, bright lights came up on the set of Sugarville’s CHANNEL 7 ACTION NEWS, 10 p.m. broadcast. The name of the program was emblazoned on the back wall of the set in bold italic, sans serif, purple letters edged with gold. Under the letters was a large monitor showing random scenes from the Sugarville metro area.

      The two anchorpeople chatted at the sky-blue news desk, their tanned faces set in expressions of cheery attentiveness. As the music faded, they turned simultaneously toward the camera.

      “Good evening, and welcome to Channel 7 Action News at ten! I’m Brett Bellamy!” The anchorman had green eyes, a square jaw and dark-brown hair with golden highlights.

      “And I’m Jessica Michaels!” The anchorwoman had bright blue eyes, an almond-shaped face and shoulder-length, moussed black hair with a long, ash-blonde forelock. “Tonight’s top story—Sugarville find itself locked in the icy grip of a cold snap!”

      The expressions of the anchorpeople turned deadly serious as the theme music blared, while on the monitor, a navy-blue and icy cyan logo sprang up that read, COLD SNAP! SUGARVILLE IN PERIL.

      “So far, we’ve been enjoying a fairly mild October,” Brett said, “with a daytime high of sixty-eight degrees, and a nighttime low of forty-seven. But this evening at 9 p.m., Sugarville citizens trembled as the mercury dropped to forty-four degrees! But that wasn’t the worst. Brisk winds combined with that frigid temperature to create a wind-chill factor of forty-one degrees. And since that time, the temperature has dropped even further—to an arctic thirty-nine degrees!”

      “Bone-chilling!” said Jessica, brushing her forelock, which was drooping a bit, away from her cheek. “We now have a live report from Chad Yamata, who is out in the community in our Channel 7 Action News Van, experiencing this sudden change in the weather firsthand.”

      On the monitor, a handsome Asian man in a suede jacket appeared. He wore blue contact lenses and his black hair was frosted golden-brown at the temples. At his side was a middle-aged, heavyset woman in an orange parka. “Thanks, Jessica!” Chad said. Curls of mist lightly billowed from his lips. “I’m on Lincoln Street, talking with Emily Randolph, who tells us her puppy, Mindy, ran out of the house when one of her children left the door open after coming home from a friend’s house. The puppy is now lost—outside—in these icy temperatures.”

      “Outside!” Jessica repeated with dread.

      “Mrs. Randolph,” Chad said, “what is going through your mind right now, knowing that little Mindy is somewhere out in the cold, alone and helpless?”

      “It’s not that cold,” Emily Randolph said. “I mean, it’s no big deal. Why are you even here? Geez, this must really be a slow news day! You’re stirring up a big panic over nothing.”

      “Have you printed up posters of the missing puppy?” Chad asked earnestly, his face a study in polite concern. “How much are you willing to offer as a reward?”

      Emily rolled her eyes. “Give me a break! It’s not even cold enough to freeze an ice cube out here. Mindy will be okay.”

      “Maybe so,” Chad said. “But what if it suddenly gets even colder? In blustery conditions, every second counts!”

      The housewife shrugged. “I suppose I could run some posters off on my laser printer, and put them around the neighborhood first thing in the morning. It’s a black-and-white printer, though. The posters don’t have to be color, do they?”

      Chad raised an eyebrow. “A color printout would be much more helpful in ensuring positive identification of the missing family member.”

      “Wha—? It’s not like one of my kids is lost. It’s just a puppy.” The woman sighed. “Well, my boy Skip has a scanner on his computer. I suppose I could scan in a color picture, take it down to Kinko’s on a disk and—”

      Suddenly a boy’s voice rang out off-camera. “Hey, Mom! I found Mindy! She was in the garage.”

      “And there you have it!” Chad said. “Crisis averted here on Lincoln Street. A beloved puppy has been reunited with her human family!”

      Jessica breathed a sigh of relief. “That was a close call.”

      Chad nodded. “Maybe a little too close. Back to you, Brett and Jessica!”

      “Thanks, Chad.” Brett smiled for the camera. “We’ll be right back. When we return—more on Cold Snap! Sugarville in Peril!”

      It was time for a commercial break.

      A potbellied man shoveled snow from the sidewalk in front of his house. He waved to his wife, watching him from the living room window. Suddenly he clutched his chest and collapsed.

      “Don’t let this happen to you!” boomed a deep male voice. “Clearing the walk can be a breeze with a Winter-Pro Sno-Blower, on sale now at Munsen Hardware.”

      The image of Munsen Hardware filled the screen. By the door stood the owner, Harold Munsen, who said, with a cheery nasal twang, “Serving Sugarville for twenty-seven years! We’re at the intersection of Lombard Street and Culpepper Avenue, with plenty of free parking. And as always, free balloons for the kids!”

      The screen returned to the sidewalk, where the wife was proudly pushing a Winter-Pro Sno-Blower as the paramedics took away her dead husband.

      In the next commercial, a thin, pale man in a black suit blew his icy breath over an old woman’s hands as she tried to unlock her ice-encrusted front door on a winter’s day. The man’s face glittered like a fresh snowball. The woman winced with pain.

      “When winter’s numbing gusts make your arthritis flare up, take action!” purred a throaty but still very feminine voice. “Soooothe the pain with deep penetrating Campho-Supreme.”

      The old woman pulled an orange tube out of her purse and rubbed some pink cream onto her hands.

      Three chorus girls in orange sequined gowns then danced into view. The old woman finally opened the door of the house and the three dancers led the pale man inside. Suddenly the girls and the man, minus their eveningwear, are seen soaking in a large hot tub. Behind them, the old woman happily opened pickle jars and broke walnuts with a nutcracker, delighted by her newfound manual dexterity.

      The pale man sighed with pleasure as he slowly melted into the tub. Apparently his flesh and bones were made of packed snow.

      “Campho-Supreme!” purred the voice. “Available at all HealthPal Drugstores!”

      With a blare of dramatic music, the news returned.

      “We’ve just learned,” Brett said, “that the temperature has dropped another two degrees.”

      On the monitor, the logo popped up again—COLD SNAP! SUGARVILLE IN PERIL.

      A crew member moussed Jessica’s hair

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