Most adults look at me like I’m crazy when I admit that I love Disneyland. Like I-would-go-there-ten-times-a-year-if-I-could love.
But there’s long lines.
And crying kids.
And it’s so expensive.
All true, but I don’t care one whit. Disneyland isn’t called The Happiest Place on Earth for nothing. I know if I’m going to spend a day at Disneyland it’s going to be a blast and there are parts of the day I’m going to remember forever.
(I could make this into a metaphor about how a good book is similar, but I’m not going to because I’m supposed to be packing.)
I’m going to Disneyland.
And I’m going to ride the Teacups.
And Splash Mountain.
And eat too many churros with my husband and five-year-old monkey.
And that makes me happy. Very, very happy.