Between the world cup frenzy and the basketball madness, a clipping of Small Wonder, that incredible 80s TV show hit me like a refreshing umbrella drink on a blazing afternoon.
My dad was a TV Hitler when I was a kid but I always found a way to distract him and watch Small Wonder. Little Vicki, with her robotic voice and her superhuman strength and speed was my role model. She was everything I aspired to be at the time: cute, intelligent and strong enough to punch all those annoying boys in school when they asked private questions and poked fun. I also harbored a secret crush on Jamie, her elder bro with salon hair, for the longest time and for that reason detested Harriet, their neighbor's nosey little girl who just couldn't leave Jamie alone and get on with her life. I mean, how hard is it to get a clue? Later when I'd stumbled upon an elder cousin's extremely drool worthy backless dress, I no longer cared to be like Vicki. Poor thing had an access panel in her back for crying out loud.
Then one day I had an epiphany. If all of my family members came with a 'Vicki mode' option, how amazing would my life be? Yes it'd make me Dr. Evil in theory but it's not like I would ever exercise it in an unethical manner. For instance, if my little one went berserk and performed third degree on me, all I'd need to do is switch her into the Vicki mode and instantly I would have a cooing, cuddly kid who could reverse the process of my desirable living room turning into an ocean of spiky toys, eat all her fruits and veggies, thank me in all the three languages I've taught her and leave my bed alone. If les husband became insensitive and started on with his unrealistic expectations, again, that magic Vicki mode and bam he would be making me bubble baths, massaging my neck instead of poking it with his fingers, working on making my kitchen pristine and of course, planning that trip to Italy.
I'm going to work on making that dream a reality even if I have to use Voodoo.