You've really "made it" when your name has become a verb.

And so David Copperfield reminds his audience with the montage of television and film clips that begins his show at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.

I first saw "Our Era's Giant of Magic" years ago on one of my first dates with my husband. I remember totally pre-judging the experience I was about to have as "some hocus-pocus show." I think I truly expected a caped sorcerer to pull a rabbit out of a top hat. Instead, a handsome, charming storyteller kept me spellbound with personal anecdotes intricately woven into a flowing production. I left the theater amazed and filled with childlike wonder.

Last Sunday was no exception, when 13 years later we took my stepdaughter, Alisha, to see the "World's Greatest Illusionist" raise his sculpted eyebrows, deliver deadpan schtick and dazzle us with moment after moment of "How did he do that?"

He even made Alisha "disappear" during the finale. (I suggest that Mr. Copperfield market this talent as an infomercial product to parents of teenagers for "temporary relief.")

After the spectacle where Mr. Copperfield made my stepdaughter and about a dozen other audience members levitate into the air and then go "poof," the show ended, there was a standing ovation and we excited the theater – without Alisha.

There was an uncomfortably long period of time in which we waited outside the venue with the families of the other "vanished" victims. Other audience members lingered in anticipation of quizzing the evanesced folks of the secret of "how he did it."

WAIT! Don't tell me!

I don't want to know. I prefer to bask in my ignorance. I don't desire the secrets and technicalities of how the magic happens. I mean, didn't David Copperfield ACTUALLY make these people disappear? Didn't he REALLY predict a series of numbers volunteered by random audience members? He surely turned a piece of paper into a fluttering butterfly!

David Copperfield IS magic. He is a modern day Merlin – only with a closer relationship to Just for Men, a tailor and supermodels.

Please don't ruin the moment of astonishment for me. Don't cheat me of being stupefied. Don't take away my "Whoa!"

Let me marinate in the wonderment of wondering what is really real. Of believing in magic (and flying pink unicorns). Of feeling the innocence of being surprised.

Keep your lips sealed or I might just go "David Copperfield" on your ass.