This vacation

I want. To go. To Disney World. SO. FLIPPING. BAD. Why is this. I grew up in Florida, I had my fill, I knew people who worked there, I saw the grimy underbelly of the beast, but this only makes me crave the shiny bits all the more. I want to ride the teacups. I want to ride in the Haunted House. I want to go on Pirates of the Caribbean and squeal like a five year old at the sudden drop. I want to walk those freakishly well manicured cobble pathways, letting their silent message of unattainable perfection seep up through my shoes. I want to be lulled by the piped-in ambients from the embedded speakers in the bushes, whispering faintly of birds and crickets and frogs, such as have never seen the human-made creeks and scrupulously chlorined ponds of that magical land. I want to pay ten dollars for an ice cream pop shaped like Mickey's head. I want to bite the ears. I want a lollypop bigger than my face and a Mickey Ears hat with my name emblazoned upon it as if to say to the world "YES, I HAVE BEEN THERE, YOU CAN COME WITH ME FRIENDS if you have a few hundred dollars." I want to throw up on the Dumbo ride. I want to sing along with the Carousel of Progress, that bastion of white Christian meat-eating heterosexuality, and laugh when the animatronic uncle in the bathroom grumbles about his privacy.  I want all of it. PANDER TO ME YOU BEAUTIFUL DEAD RACIST BASTARD, PANDER TO ME!!! I'll eat it all up and swallow it whole every time. Am I ashamed of this slavish obsession? Yes. Of course I am.  Am I even now pricing off season tickets? Fuck yes I am.