So much to do, so little time.
The bags are sitting next to the door, packed until they were practically bursting, they are threatening to open up and spill their contents all over the floor. Gee, I hope that doesn’t happen because soon I will be singing the Interstate Love Song and flying down route 95 south to visit the mouse.
That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I am making my traditional trek to Disneyworld with three hopped up super excited children in tow. Most of my highbrow friends think that feeding the maw of the mighty fascist machinery behind the happiest place on earth is galling.
Not me. I’m shallow, immature, and naive so this is a match made in heaven.
While I’m getting a lecture about how I could have used that money to go to Paris the only thing I can hear is a thousand demented tiny multicultural dolls singing “It’s a small word” and subsequently whispering in my ear “Don’t listen to them, just go to Epcot where they have fake Paris, Germany, Mexico AND china!
Then their eyes start to glow and they break into this chant “One of us!One of us!” but I digress
So you get the point, I’m a total Disney sucker.
Overcharge me, hassle me, make me stand of long lines in the tropical heat. Make me feel good once and I’ll love you forever.