I like pie. I like it very much. But I draw the line on mucus of any kind.

To be totally fair, I was impressed. It takes a lot of effort to have taste that bad.

My ballroom is full of Siamese porcupines and Portobello mushrooms. Farmland isn’t cheap.

Everyone had a story about what made them.

As a little girl, I’d have given up my Barbie Dreamhouse to have a miniature purple dragon – as an adult, I didn’t find it nearly as exciting.

As frightening as he looked, he was probably something cuddly or harmless, like a werebunny or a flying spaghetti monster. Things in my world never seemed to turn out as they appeared.

Fighting in front of potential new clients is considered bad form in the wedding-planning industry. Or, I imagine, the delicious fruit-smoothie industry. Really, any industry. Bad form.

Most dreams are just our brains taking out the garbage at night anyway.

I was a strong believer in the Pretty Woman philosophy on fairy tales: When the handsome prince rescues the princess, she rescues him right back.

Boys were so dumb.