Dear Rachael

Okay, so I justified watching because I was ironing. Really. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. And honestly, an hour of Rachael Ray is quite soothing.

Except for this whole Butterscotch Pony thing.

Seems there's this six year old who wrote to Rachael last year and invited her to her birthday party. Did it again this year. (honest. there was a video of it and everything) And for whatever reason, Rachael decides to bring her as an audience member. Gives her cake. Gives everyone in the audience (who are all little kids, by the way, as the guest star today was Bindi Irwin, the late Steve's daughter, pimping her show and clothing line with enthusiasm so manic that I actually found my jaw kind of slacking because it takes a lot to out pep Rachael but if anyone can do it, it's Bindi) an MP3 player and other stuff. And then, in a display of festive excess, asks the birthday girl what she wants. To which the child replies "Butterscotch Pony."

Now I'm going to purposely ignore where I could go with this. A really sardonic rant on kiddy entitlement and the like.

Because what I really want to say is WTF! That is one amazing fake pony! Why did I not know about this? Three and half feet tall. Eats a fake carrot. Feigns affection when you talk to it. Runs on 6 D batteries. Why did they not have this when I was 6? Hmmm? Hasbro people, you just weren't on it. I was stuck with a much less exciting fake plastic Palamino named Snowfire. Not Butterscotch Pony!! (Hey, I like this entitlement thing. I want some of it. Now. Remember yesterday's post. It's fie on February time. Break the curse. Bring me a pony.)

Anyway, I was still dumbfounded, even as Rach stirred jelly and sour cream in the Swedish meatball gravy and was unsuccessful in getting the actor from Kyle XY to show us that yes, he really has a belly button.

Where's my freakin' pony??

Til next time...