happy birthday, walt.

When my husband and I tell people we met in Disney World, the conversation that follows goes a little something like this.

“Oh, wow. What, did your eyes meet across the tea cups and you just knew it was love?”

Nope. The Dumbo ride, actually. The tea cups make me dizzy.

“No, we were both working there.”

“Were you Cinderella and he was Prince Charming?”

Wrong again.

“Actually, he rented out strollers and I cleaned Cinderella’s castle.”

Which is a fancy way of saying I worked custodial. But I did clean the castle. And it was scary. Not happy and fairytale-ish.

“Oh.”

And then the conversation usually fizzles out. Because “I met my spouse at Disney World” isn’t that cool when it's being compared to “I met my spouse at Disney World while dressed up as a fictional character.”

We don’t get to tell them that I met his parents at the entrance to Hollywood Studios.
Or that they had front row seats to the High School Musical parade, starring only me. Next to the Hollywood Studios lockers. And that I had no idea they were watching.
Or that our first hug took place at the Animal Kingdom bus stop.

We don’t say that we took our lunch breaks underneath Main Street.
Or that we kissed once behind the theater in Town’s Square.
We don’t tell them that every part of that place is full of memories. And that every day, we want to go back.

We may not have been Cinderella and Prince Charming, but you still helped us find our happily every after, Walt. So thank you.

And happy birthday.