Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a garish, yellow plastic pineapple that is apparently a "purse" for small, clumsy humans. Upon further inspection, it splits open to reveal a miniature safari world, complete with tiny plastic dolls, a monkey, and various "fun activities." While the concept of a swinging hammock is intriguing in principle, its laughably small scale makes it an insult to my napping sensibilities. The most promising aspect are the numerous small, loose components—the dolls, the monkey, the boat—which seem perfectly designed for being batted into the dark, unreachable abyss beneath the refrigerator. Ultimately, this appears to be a loud, pointless contraption designed to be carried around, a function for which I, a creature of supreme leisure, have absolutely no need.
Key Features
- This adorable Tropicool Pineapple purse compact opens to an exciting safari adventure with micro Polly and Lila dolls, a monkey figure and boat that fits 2 dolls.
- Discover and explore these fun activities and reveals: the treehouse opens to find a swinging hammock; zipline for fast fun; hang out with the monkey; find hidden animals like a lion in a cave and pop-up meerkats and hippo; eat yummy food at the rainforest cafe and more.
- Compact has a strap so kids can wear it as a purse or you can transform it into a fanny pack with a belt.
- With fun activities and accessories, Polly and Lila dolls are set for the ultimate safari adventure.
- Polly Stick technology lets you stick the dolls anywhere on the purse compact. Just place the sticker from the sticker sheet (included) anywhere and the dolls will stick to the sticker.
- Includes Polly Pocket Tropicool Pineapple purse compact, micro Polly and Lila dolls, 2 accessories and sticker sheet. For ages 4 and up.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a box that was far more interesting than its contents. My human, however, discarded the superior cardboard vessel and placed the plastic pineapple on the rug. She called it a "Tropicool" adventure. I called it an invasive species. She pried it open, and the scent of a factory floor filled my sensitive nostrils. Inside, a miniature jungle glared back, populated by two tiny, smiling bipeds named Polly and Lila, frozen in rictus grins. There was a monkey, a boat, and a pathetic-looking lion peeking from a cave. My human chirped about a "zipline for fast fun," demonstrating by hooking one of the dolls to a string and sending it whizzing across the plastic chasm. I responded with a slow blink of utter indifference. That night, under the cloak of darkness provided by a passing cloud, I began my investigation. Operation: Pineapple Infiltration. I nudged the clamshell case with my nose. It felt cheap. I peered inside. The dolls were now stuck to the floor via some sort of adhesive wizardry my human called "Polly Stick." A clever prison, but one I had no interest in occupying. I pawed at the little pop-up meerkats. They popped. It was mildly diverting for precisely 0.7 seconds. The rainforest cafe offered plastic food with no scent. A true culinary wasteland. My initial assessment stood: this was a monument to wasted resources. As I turned to stalk away in disgust, my tail—a magnificent, expressive appendage—brushed against the zipline mechanism. It twanged softly. An idea, sleek and predatory, slunk into my mind. I had recently shed one of my whiskers near the food bowl, a perfect, silvery specimen of feline engineering. I retrieved it, carrying it delicately in my teeth back to the pineapple monstrosity. This would be a true test of its crude mechanics. With the precision of a seasoned hunter dropping a gift on a pillow, I draped the whisker over the zipline's string. It was perfectly balanced. I gave the high end a gentle tap with the tip of my claw. The whisker slid, silent and graceful, all the way to the other side. It was a thing of beauty. A silent, elegant descent. I did it again. And again. The tiny plastic dolls could keep their jungle. I had discovered the pineapple's true purpose: it was a sophisticated, gravity-powered whisker-delivery system. A flawed product, certainly, but with this singular, repurposed function, it had narrowly avoided being relegated to the dustbin of my contempt. It could stay. For now.
