. . . everyone has the same sorts of problems. Yours aren't exactly unique,"" Father tells Winifred, who's hung up on an approach-avoidance path to that area of the ""Human Condition"" governed by sexuality. But few thirteen year-olds have this many sophisticated opportunities for flirting with the nitty-gritty, or a psychoanalyst father to supply all the labels. Winifred attends New York's Walden School during the late fifties--as, we're sure, did the author--but despite the real locale (real as any progressive school can be) and period bits about waist cinchers and Eisenhower jokes, there are few signs of the private, unfunny wounds one might expect from autobiography. Rather, this is a glib, giddy monologue in the manner of a pubescent Fear of Flying, though Winnie's closest call comes with one of Dad's patients who puts his hand on her thigh and hers, with near disastrous results, on the gearshift of his Thunderbird. More typically, Winifred is tortured by the sweater her older sister fills out so much more becomingly, agonized by one-liners like ""you can trust me,"" and bowled over by a highschool senior, a veritable ""apollo,"" who pays her the backhanded compliment of calling her well adjusted. From the adult point of view Winnie is something of a tease, but there's an age group that will find the single-track confession hilarious . . .and Winifred a non-threatening peer guide to a subject so fraught with tension you can't mention it without a giggle.