Lying in my Disney Deluxe Beach Resort digs (not much deluxe about the beds), I was plagued by the first day of feeling uncomfortable in a foreign environment. I slept two hours and woke cursing this not-so-magical mattress. Babyface and hubby were snoring in a symphony. My neck, back and hip felt punched by what I spent hours planning to avoid, a bad bed; so my insomnia decided to surface and say “hello” in my temporary spread.
After kicking and screaming into my pillow, I silently cursed my other two musketeers for their sleep-anywhere, shared gene. Then, after tossing and turning for two hours, I flipped on the television. I knew the other two guests wouldn’t budge. I was sure of that. I’ve been there, done that. They would sleep through a loud siren, if it went off. I would have to shake them awake.
I sat and not-so-patiently watched the guide channel flip through lines of shows. I miss my Comcast cable box (never thought I would miss that overpriced, unreliable piece of s***). There was nothing better than Dr. Drew to watch and that’s saying a lot. I find him condescending and patronizing, but maybe his show will bore me to sleep, I thought.
The guest for the day was JR Martinez and the topic was PTSD, in honor of Independence Day week. Yay, something fun and uplifting to watch, I thought. They did a recap of his story. I’m not too familiar with him, other than his stint on Dancing with the Stars, which I dislike even more than Dr. Drew. This guy is a true hero, maybe even more of a celebrity than the others on that damn dancing show.
He and Dr. Drew reviewed several cases of soldiers plagued with PTSD; and I realized that this show IS uplifting. I was complaining about a bad bed, insomnia and a crappy cable box, but I’m completely healthy in DISNEY WORLD with my two best friends. This is where I started to feel embarrassed for even being upset and thought about my day.
After a smooth plane ride, I settled into frustration because of all of the dumb, little bumps that sparked the minute the plane hit the tarmac. We had forgotten to put the Magical luggage tags on, so we had to retrieve the bags ourselves, providing another setback. Baggage claim was simple, but after two separate bathroom breaks we missed the latest Disney Magical Express and had to wait 30 minutes.
We were all starving and standing, waiting for the next bus. Not so bad, right? Exactly. I am sliding under my covers, as we speak, from embarrassment. Could have been worse. They could have lost our bags or, even worse, we could have not landed on the tarmac.
Then, after we boarded the bus, the air conditioning was blaring so high that I had two sweaters and a jacket on to cover them. I didn’t realize the drive was 20 minutes, just to the first hotel for drop-off. We were the last Disney Resort destination.
When we arrived at the hotel, they booked us in a King-bed room with a day bad. I called months in advance to avoid this. My daughter will not sleep in a day bed and all three of us in a King is too confining, due to her kicking. At least with her in another bed, I don’t have to deal with dueling kickers.
They found us a double, Queen room about a mile from the lobby on the third floor. Could have been worse. They could have made us take the King room or, even worse, they could have lost our reservation.
When we entered the room, I found a hair in the bathroom. My husband wiped it up with a Clorox wipe and told me to ignore it, so I did, but gagged a bit. We headed to the only restaurant open in the hotel that wasn’t a $40 buffet, Beaches and Cream. The wait was 50 minutes. We hadn’t eaten a real meal all day and it was now 10 pm.
My daughter was not fazed by any of this. They had a yellow hula-hoop to keep her occupied. She smiled and giggled throughout the 50 minutes. I wished for a glass of wine, but decided to power through and save some money. Watching Babyface laugh gave me a bit of a high, so that would have to suffice.
There was another little girl there. She was licking her ice cream. Every time the hoop revolved, she licked it again and smiled. Maybe this is the happiest place on earth, I thought. Could have been worse. I could have been staring at some guy’s butt crack, or even worse, an old man in a speedo. After all, I had my back to the pool.
We were seated and ordered. Everything was overpriced, so we expected it to be tasty. It was the opposite. McDonald’s is gourmet dining compared to this hunk of junk. The burger tasted like lard with a nice slimy glaze on the surface of the patty.
$44 dollars later, they delivered an ice cream sundae to my daughter with the Disney signature; it had Oreo ears, a cherry nose, two chocolate chip eyes and chocolate ice cream. She actually glowed. The food was bad, but could’ve been worse. We could not be here. We could not have each other. We could not see our daughter look this happy.