No matter how much you try to fancy it up (notice top hat ears) you still look like the guy on the right.
Me and about 200,000 other people had this brilliant idea to spend Spring Break at Walt Disney World. Sure, we could’ve done something more relaxing — like sky diving, but we chose this destination because we like lines. Love lines. Love the way that by simply roping off lines into a maze like snake shape so one could walk nearly a mile without ever leaving a room.
OK, lines make me insane, I can truly only half pay attention to anyone as I’m busily trying to assess how fast we’re moving and how much time we have left. While standing in the first line of the day, my daughter asked who played Mickey Mouse. “I don’t know. I guess Walt Disney was the first Mickey, but not anymore, he’s dead.” Maybe I should’ve thought out my response because my daughter’s reaction was to scream, O M G, MICKEY MOUSE IS DEAD??!! There are no rules in Disney about what you can and cannot say, but I’m gonna guess if there were that would literally top the chart. Holy crap. I’ve never seen so many chipper little happy faces fall into frowns and tears so quickly, as moms struggled to do damage control while intermittently giving me the stink eye.
Sadly, it went down hill from there. I began to suffer what I call “line dementia,” that’s when crazy shit comes out of your mouth simply to fill time and to mess with your children for your personal amusement — it’s somewhat of a survival tactic. Continue reading →
AKA The Story of One of My Most Awkward Moments EVER! …
Here in South Florida many of us have pool boys. I’m not sure what the PC term is: “pool men,” “pool attendants,” “stewardesses?” Frankly, I think “pool boy” is a compliment, as the term implies — hot, strapping, and young, like the ones in movies (I imagine that’s what they’re like out in LA). For the most part our “pool boys” are not the rippling tan cliche that’ll turn you into a Mrs. Robinson, no, Continue reading →
According to the barrista at my Starbucks, I’m an awesome wife. No, I’m not putting out for lattes like I once threatened to do and I’m certainly not ironing clothes for the lady who swipes my card –or even my husband for that matter. I simply showed up at 7:45 AM to buy my husband his coffee on Father’s Day. The staff at my Starbucks were taking bets on how many of their regular customer’s wives would show up for a Father’s Day coffee run. The results: 2. Yep, 2 wives, myself included. They cheered when I entered, “Jenny, I knew I could count on you,” the manager said. I thought I’d won a prize, maybe a frappe “my way?” It seems I deserved one; when I walked in to get my coffee the next morning they were still talking about it. They were talking about how shocked they were that on Mother’s Day they saw all the dads with the kids, letting moms sleep in and on Father’s Day the husbands still got the coffee. I guess the men are the “weekend coffee getters” in our society. Sure, they used to be hunters and gatherers, protectors, and providers, but now apparently getting coffee is as manly a task as we can bestow on our husbands. Continue reading →