"What can I get the royal Kateness for her birthday?" I ask Kelly, my writing partner. "Oh, you don't have to get her anything," she says. "Of course I do. I want her to love me even more than she does now." "You could get her a bulldozer." "Any particular reason?" "She loves bulldozers." "So I gather." "It's part of Old McDonald." "I didn't know that." "And on his farm he had a -- bulldozer! Ee-i-ee-i-o." Now it makes sense. If old McDonald had a farm, naturally, he'd need a bulldozer. "How big a bulldozer are we talking?" I ask. "A toy one." "I don't have to get her a real one?" "Not unless you want to." I really don't, but I keep that to myself, and off I go to the toy store. "I need a bulldozer," I tell the gal behind the counter. She stares at me blankly. "Okay," she says, and walks me over to the section with bright yellow trucks. We both stare at the selection, confused. "Which one's the bulldozer?" I ask. "I have no idea." "Hang on, let me Google it." I call up photos of toy bulldozers. She leans in. "I don't think we have those." "Do you have anything that a two year old will think is a bulldozer?" "Maybe." Finally, we zero on a something called a skid steer loader, which vaguely resembles a bulldozer, and I fork over the money. "I hope she doesn't know the difference," I tell the gal. "I'll put a gift receipt in, just in case." I'm happy to report that Kelly and Jen's daughter has totally bought this deception, although one day, she may realize the fakery, and I may lose my celebrity status as Silly Carol. Until then, she's loving the faux farm equipment and I'm still in excellent standing.