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 The Babysitter's Club
by Ada Calhoun
There was exactly one word in my mind when I woke up this morning: unacceptable (pronounced, primly and Britishly, as un-ass-sep-ta-ble.) I had one of those low-grade, pre-coffee depressions that makes everything — from the fact that so far no one wants to buy my novel to the fact that my husband had stolen all the blankets in his sleep — seem like my life had taken a hopeless, soul-destroying turn for the worse. But I thought of my higher power, Jo Frost, and I rallied.
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