'Cause you won't be getting them in Chapter 6.
Alrighty.
I prefer the handle "Melinquent". 'Cause that's pretty funny. I don't care who you are?!
Right ncseric?!
Although, I'm forced to report The Chapster to the mods for flirting violation. Along with FRICK! Again, as usual. And I think...errrr...Celery, too.
Heh heh.
Ok.
Back to the Tale of Two Mellys:
The happyhaunts grab our carryon crap and head off of the plane. I'm first. Of the five of us to head out. I gotta get off the plane ASAP. I don't CARE if we forget our camera bag or third child. I'm OUTTA there. I pass by the pilot and say, "Bye. Thanks!". And head out to the ramp. I was absolutely STRUCK by the pilot. BTW. So I turn and say, "Mel! Didja get a look at the PILOT! He was about 10 years OLD!".
Except I'm not talkin' to Mellyman.
I'm talking to our PILOT. Who, I guess, had decided to follow me off the plane.
He smiles and says "Nope. I'm 15."
Oopsy DOOKEY!
Me(l) BAD!
I laugh and wait for Mellyman to catch up so I can tell him about my tiny faux pa
S. (That's a small French mistake. TFI. Like...forgetting to properly thank the Americans for liberating France in Normandy! For over 60 years!)
Anyhow... he wasn't really listening to me. He kept pushing me forwards and saying, "Mel, keep walking! Why are you stopping?! There's a half a plane of people about to run us over!".
Oh yeah.
We get into the terminal and gather together as a flock of happyhaunts.
Everyone has to go to the bathroom.
Especially Me(l).
Who has had a beer on the plane. A glass of tomato juice. And finished Beth's mostly full cup of Coke. B/c I didn't know what to do with it otherwise. When I wanted her tray up.
I say, "OK. We'll meet outside the bathrooms. Let's go! BREAK!". Clap!
And I dash with my bursting bladder towards the bathroom. Carrying about three bags over my shoulder. Thinking... "I'm not gonna make it!" All rumpled from the flight of terror. Pale, freckled and nervous!
I run like Woody Allen!
But... with less athletic prowess.
Then we all meet up again. Outside the doors. And head towards our first MONORAIL ride!
We climb aboard and I remind Tommy to "HOLD ON!".
He crosses his arms in front of him.
"Hold on. Or you'll hurt your head real bad!" I caution. Again.
He refuses.
And, b/c I aspire to being all-powerful. I think. I tell him that unless he holds on... the monorail won't move. An inch.
The monorail starts going.
Pretty fast.
And Tommy bounces into us like a small stubborn 6 year old who wasn't hanging on properly.
We all sprint to the baggage claim area.
We find a spot to drag our mountain of luggage to. And while Beth, Calvin and I stay and wait for our bags to appear... Mellyman takes Tommy firmly by the hand and heads out to get our rental car organized. They'll come back and help us with the bags when they're finished.
We don't see our bags.
But, in about three minutes, I see Calvin on the luggage conveyor belt. Kneeling down. For safety. And about to head through the flaps into the bowels of the airport.
AGAIN!
I yell his name and go haul him off the conveyor belt by the waistband of his shorts.
"Did you not try that last year?! What are you thinking? That you'll just get off on the other side and find our suitcases yourself?! Just stand beside me and wait. Please."!
Of course he doesn't.
He skips merrily away. Towards Beth. Fluttering his hands up in the air.
"CALVIN! CAN IT!"!
He was getting his inevitable Fairy Timeout outta the way. Beating me to the punch as it were.
Anyhow... we got into our zone. Beth stands by the beginning of the conveyor belt. Points out our bags as they come out. Calls my name, "MOM!", as they appear. So that I'll go retrieve them and bring them to Calvin who is our guard. It's a miraculously efficient system. Except for the "MOM!" part. Which applies to about a quarter of the room. And sometimes gets a little confuzzelling.
We found all our bags! Except the booster seat.
So we gathered together to people-watch. And wait for it.
We were actually watching people to see if any of them had grabbed our booster seat.
And Calvin was, again, playing a couple rounds of Dookey Dookey Ho. With the strangers in the terminal.
Finally our booster seat appears. We can tell it's ours by the many stains on it.
'Nuff said.
Mellyman and Tommy come back with the rental stuff and we all head out to find ourselves a car.
We all drag and carry luggage. Even Tommy. He pulls Beth's bubblegum pink Heys X-case.
Mellyman tries to make him switch and take another. But he really likes it. It clashes wonderfully with his bright orange Go Diego Go knapsack. That he's wearing.
Mellyman tries again.
He's afraid that Tommy will bump it into something and get a mark on it. And Beth will fly into a pre-teen rage.
But, not really.
I think my beautiful bride wanted to be the one trundling the pink Barbie case through the Orlando Airport.
Mellyman is SO flamboyant and ostentatious. Sometimes.
Heh heh.
We made our way to the row of mid-size cars and picked a GOLD one!
Of course we did!
Well... MELLYMAN picked it.
I told Liberace and the kids to hop in and we'd be off to DISNEY! BAYBEE!
But, not before "Melerace" repacked the whole car. We could barely fit all of our crap into our little gold rental!
There were kids and suitcases and a booster and carryon bags and purses and two adults and a VERY ITCHY ARM... crammed into every inch of our ride.
But... we DID all fit.
And tore outta the parking garage with our sunglasses on. And LOW RIDER by WAR... blaring from speakers.
We drove like the wind. Like Lindsay Lohan avoiding a Virgin Colada. Like Britney Spears avoiding a salad. Like POSH Beckham avoiding a smile. Like POSH Beckham avoiding a healthy weight range. Like David Beckham avoiding POSH... and the finding of his missing cojones. Like Eddie Murphy avoiding a paternity test!
OK. I'm done. Whew.
Until we abruptly pulled over to the side of the road. To shuffle all our gear and find my changepurse of American change. For the freakin' TOLL BOOTHS!
Found the change!
And got back on the road. AGAIN.
We were headed to Downtown Disney.
Specifically to The Earl of Sandwich!
B/c last May we had planned to eat there on our first night when something went wrong.
Or instead of "wrong"... I mean "typically happyhaunt"!
B/c although we are Irish... we have the LUCK of the Kurds.
ANYWHO... there was NO BREAD. That night last May at The Earl of Sandwich.
They were unable to MAKE FREAKIN' SANDWICHES!!!!!
If you can believe it.
No freakin' sandwich bread at The Earl of Sandwich.
And there was NO WAY Mellyman was pining for The Earl of Small Garden Salad.
No way. No how.
I mean: Doesn't "Earl OF SANDWICH" and "Sandwich BREAD". Go together?!
Like Elvis and Gladys.
Like Elvis and fried food.
Like Elvis and appaling black velvet paintings.
Like Elvis and Butt-head.
Oh.
Sorry.
That's BEAVIS... and Butt-head.
HEH HEH!!!!
Cheers, Melly.
