Cate: Wear the red sweater. Get your Canoodle.

I was watching TV Land last night and saw an old friend of mine. He seemed to beckon me, so I entered the wilds of my imagination for a little airplane ride to my favorite vacation getaway.

The lei dropped around my neck as Tattoo approached still yelling about the plane that had landed several minutes ago. I wondered how long it had been since he had a psych evaluation. The perseveration seemed to be worsening. It couldn’t be good for his health.

Tattoo led me to a table, where my good friend Mr. Roark sat. “I loved you in Spy Kids 3!” I exclaimed. “Despite the awesome 3D, I knew we would come through safely once you got your robot armor.” Mr. Roark blushed. I think he has a little crush on me.

“Tell me. What are the thoughts of your heart? What is your fantasy?” he leaned forward, eager to hear what adventure I would mistakenly enter.

“Well, I kinda want to change my inner critic from a Mrs. Trunchbull to a Miss Nelson. And a few kids wouldn’t break my heart.” I said.

“Yes, well, you read the brochure, correct? There is a very subtle difference between Fantasy Island and Miracle Isle. You reviewed this?” I nodded. It had been worth a try.

“I guess then I’d just like to feel like I was in control of some things.” Mr. Roark nodded. He pointed towards a door to my right. “Enjoy!”

I went through the door and found myself addressing the U.N. as the Grand Empress of Everything. I was wearing drab gray. I’m not sure what happens in the future that all great leaders lose their sense of color. The fashion faux pas combined with excessive pressure moved me right back out the door.

“Maybe I’d prefer just to feel like I have something that only I can do? Something important and good?”

As I stepped back through the door, I nearly strangled on my red cape. A train came barreling out of control down a track. I flexed my massive muscles and stopped it just before it fell off the broken bridge. That proved exhausting so I abandoned the adventure.

“Keep the muscles, lose the cape?” I implored. Mr. Roark was looking as though he were rapidly getting over me. “Erm…maybe just a nice, relaxing weekend in the tropics?”


Mr. Roark pointed to a hammock in the corner. I figured out why I’m his favorite customer. Apart from the non-stop need for Diet Coke, I’m pretty dang easy to please.