Disney Death March, Part Two

The first raindrop hit me square in the head.

"Shit, that's rain."

"You shouldn't say 'shit' at the Happiest Place on Earth," my husband chastised me.

"Bugger, that's rain." Cleaner language it may have been, but it did not change the fact that we were in for a bitch of a storm.

"This is GREAT!" Scott crowed. "Now all the tourists will go home! We'll get on any ride we want! You can't ask for anything better than this!!" His pace quickened, pulling me forward to the more popular rides, the ones with the longest lines.

I mumbled more curse words as I wrapped myself in my cheap rain poncho, the one I had brought with me in case of just this situation. Having traveled with Scott for nigh on seven years, I have learned that you'd best bring any number of things, as you simply never know what might happen and --- believe me --- the day will NOT be cut short for anything as trivial as hunger, rain, or injury.

As was reiterated to me in short order when, hurrying to the Haunted Mansion, my flip flop hit a particularly slippy* type of paving, and down I went.

"Uhn!" (Me, hitting the pavement.)

"What the....are you ok? I TOLD YOU NOT TO WEAR THOSE FLIP FLOPS!! C'mon, let's go!" (Scott, dragging me along by my arm for a short distance.)

"Grumble, grumble." (Me, making a few comments on my husband's questionable parentage, sotto voce.)

On he went. I was now totally soaked excepting for the small section covered by my discount poncho, which was the approximate thickness and durability of cling film. Satisfying myself with small, expressive sighs of discontent, I followed.

The rain continued, the ride lines got shorter and shorter, and our fellow travelers looked more and more miserable, huddled together under any overhang available. The bathrooms began to resemble emergency shelters: crying children clutched to their parents' bosoms, clothing and backpacks strewn wherever unused space could be found.

Scott, by contrast, could not have been happier. This was just what he had been hoping for, and he hadn't even had to purchase an overpriced Mickey poncho! We zipped onto Pirates of the Caribbean and sallied straight through to the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad with no wait whatsoever.

The second time I fell, I thought to myself, Stay down. Just stay down, and it'll all be over. They'll come get you in a little golf cart, and they'll drive you to somewhere private and warm. They'll give you a band-aid for your toe, and maybe a Stitch doll so you won't sue. Just...stay...down....

But like the punch drunk fighter who won't throw the match, even if it means the Mob will be on him for whatever is left of his honourable life, I trembled to my feet. "Please. Don't hurt me anymore."

"Oh, sweetie, it's okay!" my dear, beloved husband cooed. "But hurry up now, we still have to see It's a Small World and The Country Bear Jamboree and Buzz Lightyear and..."

After that, it was all a rain-soaked blur. I should have stayed down....

* This is Pittsburghese for "slippery".