Everyone, sit down. We need to talk. This Avatar business is getting out of hand. It was fine when you just wanted to go for the 3D glasses and special effects. The effects were epic and it is pretty sweet when a big-ass dinosaur gets all up in your face. But when you started painting yourself blue everyday that was my first clue that something was wrong. You’ve ruined all the bath towels, not to mention the sheets. The only thing you’ll listen to is the Avatar soundtrack, and every time I walk in the door I’m greeted with, “I see you.”

I want to help you, but I can’t understand why you think this movie is so important. You hate nature and spend most of your time at home playing WoW (or at least you used to; now it’s the Avatar video game). If you were really to go to the planet of Pandora, which I don’t think is even a planet but actually a moon, you would be eaten alive in minutes by those big pleather cats, or crushed by that hammerhead Triceratops. Even if you made it to that big tree, how would you feel if some big blue dude showed up at our house and started imitating the way we lived? Watching us from the corner of our kitchen while we drink our coffee every morning, Jane Goodall style? I doubt your idols would be thrilled at the prospect of this.

I’ve tried to understand, I really have. Remember when I bought you tickets to New Zealand, where the movie was filmed? I thought you would love to be as close as possible to Pandora, but you scoffed at me: “The Na’vi don’t actually live on Earth, stupid.” I wanted to respond, “Yes, I know that, honey, but they don’t live on Pandora either,” but I wasn’t ready to talk you down from the roof of the garage while you threatened to jump and be reborn under Eywa.

Your obsession with this fantasy is really starting to get to me. Every night while you sleep in your homemade avatar chamber, I fantasize about cutting off your braid that you try to “link” to the dog with. I dream of better days, when I could kiss you without being covered in blue paint. Every day as I leave for work, I know that I might come home to find you curled up under the tree in the front yard, trying to transfer to your avatar body through the roots. I try to rehearse what I will say to the neighbors, but nothing sounds right.