Fantasyland

Courtesy: Disneyland

We’ve been married a long time—long enough that it requires less calculation to say how long we haven’t been married than how long we have, when anyone asks. And we’ve been married long enough to drift apart, a casualty of shifting interests and temperaments, patience and desires. It’s common, I suppose; it’s just not widely advertised.

Oftentimes couples wives try to pinpoint what happened, if there was a single incident that pulled the loose thread that unraveled the sweater. Did I change, or did he? she’ll wonder. (Translation: is it my fault, or his?)

In our case, he changed. In our case, it’s his fault.

Because what kind of animal doesn’t enjoy going to Disneyland?

Oh, he liked it just fine, early on—at least he said he did. But now I can’t help wondering, was it all an act? The smiles, the offers of a Dole Whip, the sitting statue-still while a lady clipped our silhouettes, her hands flying like a Benihana chef’s? Or did he like it just fine for a date, because he knew I liked it, his teeth gritted behind that smile? No, that can’t be. I can spot insincerity from a Space-Mountain-on-a-school-holiday-line away. Besides, he’s not very good at acting.

I don’t understand how he’s blind to the memories, why Disneyland doesn’t hold the slightest sentimentality for him. It was, after all, where we took our firstborn on her second birthday. Is that when it happened, when he became a man I no longer knew? Kids under three were free, so he couldn’t argue with the price. Was it because that free admission ballooned into half a paycheck by the time we left? Or that he had to carry our daughter for hours when she was too tired to walk? Still, it was nighttime by then and the scorching July sun had set. To this day I don’t know what he was complaining about.

Over the years our family’s size and Disneyland’s ticket prices increased concomitantly, and we visited less often—or maybe it was my husband’s grumbling that kept us from going. Anyway, while we were gone they became crafty, those Disney folk. For instance, rides no longer exit into brilliant California sunshine; now they dump you directly into themed gift shops so that when your Pirates of the Caribbean adventure is over you find yourself wading through tricorne hats, eye patches, and flasks. But where I see crafty, my husband sees money-grubbing, children-stalking henchmen. Potato, potahto.

We will probably never go back—not because our girls are grown, but because Disneyland recently raised their adult ticket prices to $99. Without parking. Without food. Without Advil.

So I’m left with my memories and my silhouette cutouts. Come to think of it, maybe there weren’t any flasks in that gift shop after all—maybe I’m just fantasizing about what would have made a day at Disneyland with three small children bearable: a flask filled with something stronger than a Dole Whip.

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9 thoughts on “Fantasyland

    • He probably did outgrow it, deciding weekends are too few and far between to spend them shoulder to shoulder with strangers. And we’re both from the Anaheim area and have been going there for as long as we can remember, so we’ve seen a lot of changes–not for the better–over the years. I’m more glass-half-full than he is, and I hold out hope our *next trip* will be better, but it never is.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Your title is intriguing because it makes me wonder whose fantasy you are writing about.
    You couldn’t pay me enough to go to Disneyland. Thank goodness my husband and I both hate crowds.

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    • The title came after writing it because I realized it was my fantasy to keep things like they used to be. Problem is, it’s easy to forget things weren’t perfect then, either.

      And the crowds have gotten even worse since they initiated an installment plan for annual passes. That may have been my husband’s cherry on top–offering financing for an amusement park. It’s not what it used to be, that’s for sure.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I don’t think I will ever grow out of Disney – Disneyworld for me, as we’re east coasters. But I’ll tell you what, I think I might just pay the $99 ticket price for a full day of DOLE WHIPS OMG THEY ARE THE NECTAR OF THE GODS.

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    • Ok, you know by my post I’m no kid. What I’m about to say will age me even more: I remember when you could buy a $5 “shopping pass” to Disneyland. There were ticket books then, so your $5 basically bought your admission to the park with no rides included. Think of it–you could have Dole Whipped yourself into a frenzy for a mere $5 over the cost of the Whips!

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      • What they really need to do is make a Dole Whip only pass, and you can line up right at the entrance to the park and just get your Dole Whip and skip everything else. Because when you reach a certain age it’s time to admit that at least 50% of the reasoning for your entire trip is the multiple Dole Whips.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Very true…even if it means going to that no-man’s-land (Frontierland? New Orleans Square? I just know it’s by that bridge) to get one. Or three.

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