Many of you guessed correctly. We were in Florida last week. More specifically Disney World. Yes, I consciously signed up to take the family – kids and all – to Disney for a week in late August. What gave it away? The $5 bottle of water? Or the mind numbing stupidity of such a choice that could only be associated with yours truly? What? Is it hot and humid in August in Florida or something??
I don’t like to pick on people. You know that about me. Some people though, unprovoked, call me a "terrorist." Others may say I’m “unfit for civilized society.”* And yet still others maintain I “show occasional glimpses of standard human characteristics that provide a fleeting hope that years of therapy may yet yield a infinitesimal movement to a desired result.”** Whatev. The Nitmos clan did Disney World! Along the way, we managed to mock people in mobility carts!
Now, before you judge, understand that it was very humid out. We were standing in lines that led to very limited entertainment conclusions (you’ve been on It’s A Small World right?). And I like to make hasty snap judgments about people. It’s one of my favorite activities.
Beep beep beep. In come the motorized mobility carts. The rider resembles McDonaldland’s Grimace. The only disability I see is the inability to control their trans fats. As Cross Country Squared said in the last posts comments, we (I say “we” as we were on the trip with another family of four – that’s right 4 kids total!) were basically playing her game of Fat or Crippled? You know what? 90% of the time our judgment was Fat. Grimace here. Mayor McCheese there. These weren’t disabilities. Sorry if that sounds rude – I’m not normally like this as you know – but try waiting in line for 30 minutes to see a plastic Peter Pan only to be bumped further back by a gluttonous, beeping mobility cart rider and his/her family of 17. Sorry sir, you’ll need to wait 5 extra minutes while we load up Jabba and company. It’s only 90 degrees with 90% humidity but bring that cart to the front of the line. Enjoy your day!
After a few days of that, my friend and I decided that mobility carts should come with a labeling system on the back. Like a license plate displaying the name of the disability. If “Trans Fats” or “Oreos” appears on the plate, sorry, no line cuts for you. If that means you don’t go to Disney World and become housebound until either Richard Simmons or a crane shows up to bring you outside again, so be it. It got to the point where I started seriously questioning why I bother running and attempting to eat healthy. Shit, if I just grew my ass four sizes, like a backwards Grinch, I could get right on every ride, every bus right away? Tempting. Where’s the Cheetos? Here I am walking around these never-ending parks on my own legs like a sucker. Beep beep beep, here I come.
Enough with my mobility cart diatribe. I’m accused periodically of being long-winded so I’ll wrap this vacation recap up with RazZian bullet points.
- We had a great time despite the heat, humidity, mobility carts and, well, being at Disney World.
- It’s a Small World still sucks.
- They still need more roller coasters and other vomit inducing rides.
- There’s not enough Purell in the world for that place.
- Can you get herpes in your eye from a swimming pool? I think I did.
- They offered their free dining plan. Every meal came with a dessert. I’ve never eaten so many desserts in my life. Another few weeks eating like that and I’d be in a mobility cart.
- I have an unexplained rash now. No further details will be provided.
- Mrs. Nitmos hates Minnie Mouse. I think she’s sexy in that red and white checkered mini skirt. Can you guess how I tormented Mrs. Nitmos?
- This bullet point format does not allow me to expand on the near assault I got into with the airline agent at the Delta/NWA counter at the Orlando airport. Let’s just say I had to step away from the counter and let Mrs. Nitmos handle things or daddy would have spent the night in the lock up. Wearing mouse ears. Or “prag ears” as they are called in Orlando lock up.
- We tried to leave on Saturday but Disney somehow knew we still had money in our pockets. Pluto, Goofy, and nunchuk wielding Chip n’ Dale met as at the gates. Oh, yes, we could leave….if we emptied our pockets. Or we could stay until Sunday. We stayed until Sunday.
- I did manage two runs during the week of approximately 3 miles each. Absolutely saturated in sweat. How do you southern runners do it?
Here’s some carefully selected photos from the trip. There’s a beefcake shot of me in the pool below. Don’t sprain your index finger scrolling.
My little monster waiting for Rock n' Roller Coaster. Cute right?
Colt being afraid of the looming Tower of Terror
Ha! you thought I'd give you a beefcake shot of my chiseled pecs and rippled abs? You were kidding yourself. Just me and my begoggled offspring sitting in the laundry tub. I say "laundry tub" because what you can't see is Mrs. Nitmos submerged and scrubbing trousers on my rippled six pack abs. That's how we do.
Disney already in Halloween mode. Sheesh.