It is. It really is. But it's also a world of laughter, a world of TEARS, a world of hopes, and a world of FEARS. I don't know what it is, but something about Mouse World brings out the best and the absolute worst in people. For every child with eyes filled with wonder spotting the castle for the first time, there are 10 sugared-up heathens screaming that they're hungry or tired or want this piece of princess crap or that hunk of pirate shit. For every endearing family moment, there are 10 moments of near child abuse as parents screech at their kids to Come on! Quit crying! SHUT UP! Yes, I heard a lot of that. My, how very Disney of you.
I don't know if it's the magnitude of the place or the cost or what, but so many people are HELLBENT on having a good time and getting their GD money's worth, so you better get your ass in gear and get with the program or just get the hell out of the way. Seriously. Now, do I plan loose itineraries for each day? Hello - have you met me? Of course I do. But do I charge along and make everyone stick to them, come hell or high water? Of course I don't. When we get tired, we stop. When we want to eat, we eat. When we want to leave, we leave. We were able to do everything we wanted to do and more, without killing ourselves or each other, and we ended up having a great time, despite all the assholes trying to rain on our parade. This is supposed to be FUN, people.
Speaking of people, I ask again, when did everyone in America get so friggin' fat? In Disney fanatic speak, it's called "Pooh size," and you can go to any Mouse World web site, and there'll be a board full of messages about what rides Pooh size folks can fit on and what rooms are the most comfortable and what restaurants offer the most bang for your buck. I'm sorry, y'all, I'm not going for the food, and I'm not going to plan my vacation around it. And even though I'm not, nor have I ever been, the most petite little flower in the garden, the day I need a seatbelt extender to ride Dumbo, please just wire my jaw shut and commit my fat ass. Please. I don't even know how some of these folks can physically make it around the parks, because there is a shitload of walking, and only so many people can clog up the place with scooters. Which reminds me - aren't those scooters meant for ONE person? One ADULT person? That's what I thought. I guess somebody forgot to tell the family that let their 8 yr old tear ass around on Grandma's Rascal while we were waiting for the fireworks one night. Oh, and I guess I should have mentioned that to the two fabulous guys, one with a huge rainbow triangle tattoo on his calf, who were cruising around Animal World, one squeezed in behind the other on the tiny seat. Hmm ... That's just not safe, y'all.
Peach loved meeting the characters again and riding some more daring rides than last time. She also took a trip "around the world" at Epcot and has a passport full of stamps from the all the countries she visited. True to form, Olive would have been happy to ride the carousel the entire time, but after five times in a row, Mama had to reach for the Tums. She also loved "Small World," which, despite the brain-numbing song, is still one of my favorite rides. We saw some excellent shows, incredible holiday decorations, and even some "snow." And due to our mid-morning seating time for breakfast with Cinderella, by the end of our meal, we had the castle to ourselves, and those two, both in full Belle regalia, had the run of the place for half an hour. It was hilarious. Peach was about to jump out of her skin, and she just kept saying, "This is SO magical!" It was, indeed.
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