You know, the old Rub ‘n Tug!

I have returned. And judging from the provisions I bought on the way home from the airport this morning, one might assume that I:

(a) am dehydrated
(b) have eyeballs that feel like a pair of peeled grapes
(c) am a smidgen hungover
(d) am fighting like hell to stay healthy

Don’t let the list fool you; Florida was hardly the time of my life. Though the trip was peppered with quality vignettes (the memories of which are mostly fuzzy and fractured), I was more than happy to be up at 4AM so as to get home to Colorado. That shitty Rocky Mountain turbulence never felt so sweet.

Trip details aside, I can, as a fairly extensive traveler of these great United States, tell you that Orlando, Florida is the snotty nasal cavity of America. The usual overpriced tourist trap crap might be worth it if it weren’t for the homely look of the city itself. (Things seemed quite a bit more bright and shiny and a lot less like an enormous county fair when we took our stellar vacay 13 years ago.)

And don’t get me started on the scam artists commonly referred to as “taxi drivers” and “wait staff.” The infrastructure of that entire city is as befuddling as it is infuriating. I now live with the sincere hope that my future children show no interest in going to Disney World, for I fear I will revert back to a child myself, face down on the bed, arms and legs flailing about, begging my husband for a family vacay anywhere–OH GOD, ANYWHERE–but Walt Disney World.

‘Tis all for now. I just exhausted myself.


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