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The other day, my long-time neighbor, and even longer time acquaintance heard that my wife had split, and came over to chat about it. In the midst of the conversation, he said, “well, marriage ain’t no Disneyland, that’s for sure”. I thought about it for a second and realized that he was wrong. Dead wrong. Marriage is like Disneyland. In fact, it’s exactly like Disneyland.
To be better understood, I better first say how much I don’t care for Disneyland. Don’t get me wrong. The few split seconds of each day that you’re actually riding on rides, Disneyland is pretty fun; it’s the rest of the time at Disneyland that ain’t… well, that ain’t no Disneyland.
Most of Disneyland is rather masochistic. $10 bottled waters, $25 churros, and $100 photographs (which you have to buy or you’re a real schmuck). The complete elimination of your personal bubble is a big added bonus since you are forced to walk cheek to cheek with the most random strangers on earth. The lines are insanely long. The B.O. is overwhelming.
There is no place for nap time, so plan on some seriously cranky kids the second half of the day. The cost to get in is absolutely criminal, and you can pretty much plan on doubling your entrance fee during the day on knick knacks, patty-whacks, and pet dwarves. Getting out is no picnic. You better have at least a half tank of gas if you’re going to make it. Let’s not forget that it’s a lot closer to the equator than almost any of us live, and the heat melts the average person down at least 2 inches or more in height for every day spent there (where do you think the pet dwarves came from? They’re just long time employees that are officially too short to reach the cash registers anymore).
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