She's so perfect. It's blue. It has a V6. I'm with her parents after dinner, gushing about how well she'll come along, and which colleges might be good matches for her.

"Oh, gosh." (And this is only after two glasses of chianti, mind you.) "What if I'd ended up with her sister? I love them both, but I couldn't have handled that."

"Oh, I knew." Her mom grins. "I'm set that one up okay. I'm not as out of it as one might think."

She's travelling for the election, too. But they are making her go farther, because she has a law degree. I only have to go to Nevada.

Informal tally: among the adults at the table, three out of five voted for Clinton the first time around; most of us switched in 1996. Those of us (I mean, them) who were old enough had voted for . . . Carter.

We spend the evening talking about belief systems. "I don't believe in UFOs," I explain. "But I do believe in God. And, um, the big monster girl . . . Nettie?"

"Nessie," CalTech Girl finsishes.

"Right. You know how I am with nouns. That's what I meant. And the other creature. The one with the breasts. I believe in that one."

"Sasquatch?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

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