It's no wonder my recent playlists have been sporting the likes of Abraham de Lacy & Belle; it seems I was groomed to be a Disney child. At five months my mom and pops carted me around Dinseyland California - showing me & my little sunhat off to oversized mice in dresses. I threw my nippy into the murky pirate roaming waters of the Caribbean - an homage to Blackbeard.
We were there for the opening of Euro Disney (or Disneyland Paris as I can't bring myself to refer to it); and later made a second trip courtesy of the US air force & the luck of a clown - the air force for picking our family out of a draw, the clown (the only clown I would ever not be terrified of) for crossing her fingers with an eight year old me in hopes that we would win a prize to that magical world.
Living far from 'home' in Germany, we'd use our trips back to the US as an excuse to visit the mouse. Little did I know at the age of ten or even sixteen, that Disneyworld would be the base of one of the most significant days in my life...
the lady of honour
At sixteen I finally met Mickey. He was swiftly walking away from a crowd of screaming children. In a slowed down symphonic blur, he grabbed my hand and went in for a kiss. Then that man of a mouse* hopped on a trolley car and took down Main Street. It was love.
*I later found out that girls often play Mickey as the costume is too short. It was my first and only lesbian experience.
Years down the line, I somehow convinced mr bluebirdcage to get married at Disneyworld (though it was on par with & a much safer option than his idea of a Graceland wedding). It's been almost five years since we got hitched on a harbour in front of a pirate ship, made friends with Peter Pan & I was called a princess by little girls as they passed by.
Princess for a day. I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
a slice of cheese for the mouse
Until next time...