The House of the Mouse

Before yesterday, I'd been to Disneyland three times, once when I was a child, once when I was an adolescent, and once in my 20s. Yesterday I went to Disneyland for the fourth and possibly last time with my pals Kirsten and Clare who drove up from San Diego. I had a great time. The rides were fun, hanging with the girls was fantastic, it was a beautiful day, and the lines weren't too long (I purposely chose a mid-week date in winter for the excursion); and while Kirsten feels the Disney Magic quite deeply (she has bought an annual pass for years; her most recent trip before yesterday was last Saturday), I was a little less touched by the fairy dust. I had a great time and would hate to give the impression that it was anything but a really wonderful day, but let's just say I'm never going to reach the fandom of this lady:

Guardians of the Galaxy ride. After the first DROP,
I screamed and clutched Kirsten's arm like someone in a plane that just lost its engines.
It was terrifying; we went on it twice.