Two Posts in One Day!

It's a quiet day at Chez Pettit-Miller. Robert is napping. I'm sitting in front of my sweet Dell, which has no name (I better work on that, as I believe all important appliances and cars should have names as it helps them to function more efficiently, and just feel, well, needed and valued...just ask Cicero the Honda Civic, he'll tell you of his worth!)

I'm not sure I have all that much to say, except that I promised some Disney stories and haven't come through. And now my memory is getting all fuzzy and I'm thinkin' "wha?" when I reread my Disney notes...

There is, however, one little vignette...not all that holy, but enough to make me smile and remember, nonetheless.

One evening, whilst Robert was meeting with his students I wandered on over to Downtown Disney with my Mom and the Dickster for dinner and shopping (did I mention my Mom and Stepdad were with us for several days of our journey? I loved, loved, loved having them there). Of course, as often happens, my mother and I dissolve in giggles over something and Dick smiles kindly and enjoys watching the women in his life act like giggling morons. All we have to do is start out with a few words to a story and we lose it..."Hey Mom, remember the day we took Grandma shopping at Linens and Things and she found the windchimes?" And we both laugh and laugh and Dick patiently smiles. "Hey Mom, remember when Connie Chung said 'Happy Hannukah'?" Oh, but the hilarity. Dick nods appreciatively. "Hey Mom, remember the night I put the collander on my head and pretended to be the statue of liberty?" Dick closes his eyes and nods. Thankfully, my mother still believes I am the silliest person on the earth, and my step-father nods his approval kindly. And occasionally, and I might add without the stimulus of any intoxicating beverages, we both dissolve into giggles. This was sort of one of those nights...

Mom, Dick and I wandered over to the Disney Marketplace which is Disney madness! Imagine everything Disney sells in their parks in one place, connected building to building. Imagine many, many people wandering around speaking in different languages, and oh, the Brazillian tour groups with the neon clothing and the flags (those of you Disneyphiles know what I'm talking about). Mom and I were there for a simple reason...we wanted to find a hat for T., oldest step-daughter extraordinaire, and at 12 years old, hard as heck to buy for [see Mom, how I used "heck" instead of that other word that you don't like it when I use]. Dick opted for the wise choice which was, to sit outside aforementioned Marketplace and people watch. Somehow in the midst of the Mickey chaos...in the midst of the Tinkerbell paraphenilia, and the Goofy accessories my 4'10" mother and I became dislocated and thus, were rendered incapable of providing Disney with our super wondertwin mother-daughter powers.

And, in so doing did, the right and natural thing. We both just stopped exactly where we were and waited for the other to find us. Thus, I was standing in "Mickey's Men's Ware" surrounded by subtle and unassuming polo shirts with mouse ears embroidered on the breast and Mom was in "Princess Playthings" surrounded by tiny little girls squealing at the $65 sparkly Cinderella dresses begging to be worn on their squirming bodies. We both just assumed that the other would find us. Great minds think alike.

Whilst standing in my appointed spot I took a moment to survey the scene. Bored men wandering around, led by several overzealous wives. Now, I am not one to stereotype based on gender roles, however, in this instance, I had little choice but to yield to the common belief, as there was little to refute the balding white middle class men being led by their beloveds.

A weary looking father, holding a sleeping toddler in his arms was being led by his wife toward a stack of T-shirts near me. Wife (let's call her Trixie), held up a Tigger T-shirt to her balding, overweight and tired-looking spouse.
"Here," she said perkily, "what do you think?"
Ed (the name I've chosen for said husband) said quietly and dejectedly. "I don't know. I think I'm more of an Eeyore kind of guy."
"Really?" Trixie said quizically.
"Huh."
"Geez, Trixie!" I wanted to yell, "Even I can see that and I don't sleep with the guy every night!"

Ultimately, my mother and I were reunited. And there's no big story there, apart from the fact that we both met halfway, having realized, at about the same time that perhaps the other was staying where they were. Like mother, like daughter. However, while Mama got to watch little girls having their innermost fantasies met by becoming Cinderella, or Pocahantes, or Ariel. I got to see women have their innermost fantasies dashed by learning that their husbands were not, indeed, the vigrorous Tigger types, but were instead merely "an Eeyore kind of guy."