Poor Nearly Perfect Husband.
This ride may be his own ‘white whale’.
He is so obsessed with avoiding it, that it just might result in his demise.
From, like, bullying.
Because even though I have taught all of my three and a half children that bullying is wrong – and am pretty sure they do not engage in such behavior on a regular basis – I know that they do.
At one, specific place.
In the universe.
Hollywood Studios, to be more specific.
Outside the Tower of Terror, to be wicked specific.
It happens every time we come.
Since the first time he went on the ride.
My perfect cherubs engage in a relentless, taunt-filled escapade of amusement-ride-fueled bullying terror.
It would meet, I think, the definition of ‘Domestic Terrorism’.
Anyway, they taunt him and belittle him and call him names like ‘sissy’ and ‘uncool father’ and all that.
He doesn’t yield though.
So yesterday, on five different occasions, John held bags and hung out outside of the Tower of Terror while some combination of the other five of us entered the Hollywood Tower Hotel…
watched a little Twilight Zone intro…
made our way through the basement of the hotel…
sauntered into the service elevator…
were brought up to whatever floor…
saw a few ghosts…
experienced the doors opening, and you are thirteen stories (thirteen, get it?) high and can see the entire Hollywood Studios park and beyond, but then…
The cable snaps and you plummet to your deaths!
Well. really you plummet pretty close to an attractive theme-appropriate gift shop.
But anyway, it is really fun and John avoids it at all costs.
But, you know what, that’s okay because the rides are not the best part of Disney World every day anyway.
Don’t get me wrong, the rides are super fun, as are the themes and characters and stuff (you should see what happens when I see Tigger. Oh. My. Gawd.)
But the reality is that we are on vacation all together and sometimes our downtime is as fun as our ‘up’ time.
Oh my Gawd was dinner funny last night.
Scene: Hollywood Brown Derby restaurant.
Why?: Because it has really good food, but more importantly because we got a package that included dinner and a guaranteed reservation for great seats at Fantasmic!, which is an awesome nighttime show where Mickey Mouse conquers his villian-filled nightmares and wins the day and you can’t help but screaming when you finally see victorious Sorcerer’s Apprentice-y Mickey at the mountain top, having vanquished the huge dragon (with freaky glowing eyes) from sleeping beauty.
Just reliving it in my head right now.
But I digress.
So we are at the Brown Derby and we get a talk-y waiter, who is wicked nice, but also wicked talk-y.
And Mac, who has been hypo-glycemic since when it was all the rage to be hypo-glycemic (which was before the current ‘gluten free’ craze took hold)… anyway, Mac needed bread.
Because if you google ‘hypo-glycemic’ you will find out it is a synonym for hungry and angry, or ‘h-angry’.
So the waiter wants to know all about us and our day and he is talking for a really long time (seriously, about 7 minutes easily) and he finally takes our order – for drinks – and then he is gone.
And Mac groans and begins to slip to the floor.
And then the waiter comes back with our drinks and make sure we wanted tap water vs. sparkling water (yep) and then places a whole plate of lemons on our table because John asked for lemon for his diet coke. Then the waiter explains why he put so many lemons on the plate.
Then Mac asked if there was any bread at the Hollywood Brown Derby restaurant.
And the waiter said yes, and began to describe the butter, for like 3 minutes.
The butter at the Hollywood Brown Derby restaurant is whipped.
And has herbs sprinkled on it.
And also sea salt.
And then he left.
And Mac eyed the lemon as if it was its own food group.
So then we ordered appetizers (explained in great detail after we ordered each one).
The appetizers beat the bread to the table.
By this time, Mac had gnawed off her left arm but was happy to begin eating her very yummy corn bisque with a lobster ravioli in it.
Half way through my salad, the helpful waiter came over and explained that the greens I was eating (seriously, munching on as he talked at me) were delivered to the restaurant each day.
I now know that these greens are delivered at the exact moment they reach a certain height.
Then they are clipped off and brought directly to the chef.
I had to stop eating for at least four minutes to listen to this explanation.
When the waiter left, Sam was in stitches.
He gets me.
Then we ordered our main meals and that was pretty dang funny because, dontcha know, the waiter knew a lot about where each and every ingredient came from.
Dessert took for bloody ever.
Because instead of ordering just one dessert, you orderered three little desserts, in any myriad of combinations.
I cannot tell you enough about the passion fruit bubbles that explode in your mouth like caviar.
Fish egg passion fruit bubbles.
But wait! I can tell you all about them…
Because I know so much about them.
When I ordered coffee, and the waiter left, Sam collapsed in a snorting heap on the table cloth and we were all laughing and I asked what he was laughing at – specifically.
He said that, when I ordered coffee, he thought the waiter was going to say, “Oh, coffee? Well, to make that, we take a crap-ton (yes, according to Sam ‘crap-ton‘ is an official measurement) of beans and throw them in a pan and heat them on simmer…”
And then we were all laughing pretty dang hard and then we had to collect ourselves because my coffee had arrived.
And I have to tell you that, when the waiter placed it in front of me and said they roasted their own coffee on the premises I thought Sam’s eyeballs were going to fly out of his head because he was trying so hard not to laugh. His internal pressure-meter must have been nearly off the charts.
But the waiter was indeed very nice, and it sounds like his wife was wicked nice too (Ya. He went there.)
So it turns out that the dinner at the Brown Derby restaurant was one of the best and most laugh-intensive parts of the day.
To be fair, we were not cooperative-y in minding our manners, or behaving in any way appropriately. By the time the straw mustaches were attempted, I was pretty sure we would be ‘privately and exclusively escorted to the Fantasmic! show’…
What can I leave you with after Magic and Mahem: Dingles Take Disney Day Two?
You don’t have to ride every ride, or meet every character, or check off every single item on some dang check list.
And, you know what?
When you think you can’t take any more…
Go ahead and order the dang coffee.
Who knows what could happen…
Thanks for readin’.
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