La Poulette

Tastes like chicken.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

I hereby pledge allegiance to the Pill

I had to postpone the holiday which was to take me to my Evil Lair slightly and ended up spending the first few days of vacation in Paris. I've been spending most of my week-ends there for the past year, but have still failed to make it to the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Jardins de Luxembourg, the Sacre Coeur... then again, my trips to Galleries Lafayette have been more than plentiful. So what do I do with my first day of vacation in Paris? Go to Paris Disneyland ofcourse! Listen, grown people are allowed to have fun too and I remember that my trip to Disneyland in L.A. as a kid (ok, a preteen.. ok, ok, I can't lie, I was 14, mokay?! You got a problem wit dat?) was a blast. However age has take its toll and I was soon to discover that my view of Mickey's homeland had changed dramatically (oh childish innocence, where art thou?).
Let's ignore the fact that I was so sure I wasn't strapped in correctly during the terrifying Space Mountain ride that I ended up squeezing my handbag between my thighs in quiet terror and subsequently breaking the screen on my beloved Canon Ixius (one 400 euro 29th birthday present: destroyed - but I was secretly pleased with the strength of my inner thigh muscles, mmmmmhhm, that's exactly how pathetic I am). Let's forget the disturbing fact that Disneyland Paris is a scaryly exact replica of the LA original down to the last Mickey head etched into the pavement. Let's even forget that instead of being greeted by 1000 watt I-am-cheerful-come-hail-or-high-water Classic American Disney Employee smiles we were given the surly French treatment. Nope, the truly disturbing factor were the visitors. Upon seeing the gates of Disney's kingdom close behind me, I suddenly had the eerie feeling I had entered the Twilight Zone - it was as though all the people were exactly the same as in the outside world - only different. For one they all seemed heftier than your average Parisian - I am not talking American fat (LA Disneyland was a veritable fat farm on a day off, with everyone desperately gorging on junk food with reckless abandon), but the clientele was a pretty well fed bunch nonetheless. However the true horror lay in the fact that everywhere I looked my eyes fell upon the sight of the typical middle class satellite family:
- pater familias in khaki shorts, oversize advertising t-shirt and fake Teva's brandishing his obligatory videocamera (objective: shoot boring footage of kids no one will ever care to watch): check
- harrowed mother desperately trying to keep the kids in line, her clothes loose, her hair a wild mess, having long since abandoned any notions of vanity: check
- little girl in brand new polyester pink princess outfit and plastic tiara (both courtesy of the Disney store around the corner) confidently licking her popsicle as though it just went without saying that she was nothing short of the belle of the ball: check
- little boy sporting a pair of Mickey mouse ears with "BRAT" written all over him, menacingly looking to see what mischief he is going to get up to next: check
There have been times in the past when I would be recklessly careless about using birth control. Those bone-chilling days of folly, they are OVER.


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