“What? Oh, OK.” Cat was planning the two-mile hike portion of our spring break campout while I surfed the ‘net.

“We’ll rest at the Cheesecake Factory, pick up our pace with a jog to PayLess Shoes and cool down with a dip in the hotel pool.”

“Um, sure,” I still had two more e-mails to return.

“Then we raid the minibar, strip naked and run hand-in-hand through the Galleria yelling ‘girls rule.’”

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

“Earth to mom, come in mom. Step away from the computer and prepare for re-entry.”

“Sorry about that. How would you like to become a Living Goddess?”

“That was random,” she said. “Does this mean Hannah Montana is being replaced?

I showed her an online article I was reading about an 11-year-old girl in Nepal who had been serving as a Kamari – a Living Goddess. Apparently, all that adoration and peasants fulfilling her every whim was too much for the child. She resigned and there’s a search for her replacement.

I’m not sure what the pay is but the perks look pretty good. The Living Goddess bunks down in a palace, wears gobs of makeup and is carried wherever she goes. Villagers line up for hours to fawn all over her. It’s every 11-year-old girl’s fantasy. That, and maybe touching one of the Jonas Brothers.

One former Living Goddess said no one ever got mad at her, she didn’t have to work, and spent her days (when not surrounded by throngs of well-wishers) playing with dolls. Looks like Webkinz haven’t found their way to Katmandu yet. She didn’t think her responsibilities were tough and considered the job fun. Good to know. Hanging around all day waiting for caretakers to bid your will could take a toll on a kid. Look what it did to Pinot & Grigio. All that excessive finger-snapping at the Contessa gave them a bad case of arthritis.

She did have schoolwork – an entire hour’s worth every day. At least until devotees dropped in to schmooze. It’s tough concentrating when surrounded by strangers telling you how much they admire your perfection. It certainly slows my workday. The Big Guy wonders why clothes don’t make it out of the dryer but who’s got time to fold laundry when adorers are lining up at the front door? They may be selling sure-fire cleaning solutions guaranteed to get rid of soap scum AND pet odor but at least they compliment me on my hair color.

“My bags are packed. Drive me to Nepal.” Cat was headed toward Goddessdom.

“You might want to consider Living Goddess drawbacks,” I warned. “You’ll not be allowed to attend school and you won’t see your brothers again until after they graduate from college.”

“Your point is?”

Some previous Living Goddesses had separation anxiety – not from leaving their parents but from leaving idolizing caretakers at the end of their reigns. Sorta like when Lindsay Lohan’s dad picks her up from rehab.

Cat still didn’t see a downside. I explained the village didn’t have a Starbucks and the perky Limited Too girl wouldn’t be leaving chirpy voice-mails about upcoming sales. Then I hit her with the cold hard truth: she could kiss good-bye her iPod, computer and phone. No more Fergie, instant messaging or texting.

“That’s totally not satisfying.”

Hang on, it gets worse, I told her. No television.

“No Project Runway?” Cat nearly lost it.

I should have let it go at that but I couldn’t. There’s one more requirement. Living Goddesses are silent. All day. Every day. No talking, not even in their sleep.

Cat took a pass on the Living Goddess gig. She’s holding out for Contessa.

Danielle Schaaf is the co-author of “Don’t Chew Jesus!” and can be contacted at hauteflashcontessa@yahoo.com.