Recently, Julianne Hough shouted to an adoring audience,
“We’re at Disney, and it’s impossible not to be happy when you’re here!” Uh… I beg to differ. Not only is it possible to not be happy at
Disney, with long wait times, and frankfurters costing north of five bucks, it’s practically guaranteed. Is
Disney fun? Of course. For me, it’s especially fun when I haven’t
been back for a while, allowing anticipation for all that awaits to build—the
topiaries shaped like talking rodents, Main Street pulsing with activity,
Cinderella’s castle rising in the distance, the whoosh of Space Mountain, the
spray of water in my face as I fall over the edge of Splash Mountain, the
princesses willing to say hello to everyone, at least until it’s time for their
state-sanctioned potty break.
The longer I’m away from Walt’s
wonderful world, the more I buy into the Disney’s ads, and the picture they
paint that a day at D World will be a day filled with happiness, thrills, and
more thrills. It doesn’t matter that
I’ve waited in line before at Disney for over an hour for the chance to fly
(sitting down) with Peter Pan over London.
Such memories fade in the pixie dust sparkles created by the Disney hype
machine, so much so, that I’ve been known to take an it’s-every-man-for-himself
approach to catching the monorail, practically waving good bye to my children
as a friendly voice booms, Please, stand
clear of the doorway!
Dodging and sprinting, I’ve elbowed
my way to the entrance, excitement stirring to a froth inside me. Yes, the park looks packed, but it always
looks packed, I tell myself. Maybe today
we’ll get lucky and it won’t be PACKED packed.
But as I follow the crush of humanity past the new-fangled entrance
(what happened to the turnstiles?) and shuffle toward Main Street, my insides
begin to make that wah-wah-wah sound heard
on game shows when someone loses big.
Today is going to be PACKED packed.
The Scrooge McDuck in me refuses to turn back. I’ve spent A LOT of money to get inside, and
so, even if it kills me, I’m going to get in there and get happy! And so, I proceed, elbowing my way past half
of England (the half with baby strollers) and get in line for It’s A Small
World, because it’s the only ride with a reasonable wait time. At last, we climb aboard the ride’s little
boat (aka U.S.S. Straightjacket ) and begin to drift forward.
As I watch robotic children sing and dance about world
peace, a thought occurs to me: If that
friendly voice that cautioned me about the Monorail’s doorway had really been
concerned for my safety he would have said, Hold
up! Unless your idea of fun is standing
in line at the Post Office six days before Christmas, turn back while you
can. Will you have snippets of fun in
there? Yes, but it’s also likely you’ll have
a meltdown. Or your kid will. Meltdowns happen all the time in the Magic
Kingdom, though you’ll never see one in our ad campaigns. And,
by the way, Disney is not the happiest place on earth. That’s IKEA.
I’m joking. Happiness is a state of
mind, not a place, which, honestly, you should know already. If you head to the entrance, understand it’s
going to be a long, sometimes fun, sometimes frustrating day. Consider yourself warned.
But would I have listened to this brutal honesty? Would I have turned back? Probably not.
Why? Because, despite the
hassles, Disney is fun. And besides, if
It’s A Small World is slammed, we can hit The Tiki Room.
Awww come on. Maybe it's because you are half an hour from Disney and go there for EVERY event, birthdays, school trips, when folks from the west who have been stuck on the ranch come to visit, when grandparents come, when nieces want to have the experience, when a friend from 30 years ago decides Disney is the place to go. Look at it from my point of view. I've never been there and on crutches am not likely to go. So I hope my grandkids have a blast despite their grumpy mom.
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