somewhere. But of course it didn't.
Still, by the time the ride was over, my knees were shaking, and Parker had to help me out of the spacejet.
"You okay?" he asked, looking worried.
I tried to come up with an answer that wasn't too disgusting. As we left the ride, traveling along a moving walkway, I decided not to say, "No, I'm about to puke all over you," or, "I'm fine, but how'd you like to see what I had for breakfast this morning?" Instead, I replied, "Well, um, could we get me a wheelchair?" Parker laughed. But he was concerned. When we left Space Mountain, we found a spot to sit down and Parker bought us each a soda. He made me wait until mine was sort of flat before I began sipping it. By the time I was finished, I felt lots better — but not good enough to try another ride.
We settled on strolling from store to store, even though Parker had been right: we could shop anywhere.
"But not for the perfect Disney World souvenir," I pointed out.
"That's true. Is that what we're doing?" "Don't you think we should? Who knows when we'll be back here again." So we started looking. The only problem was that I had just $8.60 left, and I didn't want some little pennant or sticker. I wanted something nice. I finally found the perfect thing in the gift shop in Cinderella Castle. It was a glass unicorn charm, and it cost only six dollars. After I'd paid for it, Parker helped me fasten it to this gold bracelet I was wearing. The bracelet used to belong to my great-aunt. It's an antique, and when Mom gave it to me, she said that whatever I did, I was to keep it in the family. I'm not sure how much money if s worth, but it has a lot of sentimental value. The charm looked great on it.
Anyway, then Parker bought a T-shirt for himself. (I guess boys don't care so much about souvenirs.) By that time, I was feeling fine again. In fact, I was hungry. As we walked through Frontierland looking for a place to eat, Parker suddenly stopped in his tracks and said, "Uh-oh." "What-oh?" "If s my family," Parker told me. "My dad, the stepmother, and the brats." I looked where Parker was pointing and saw a very nice-looking man and woman and two cute little boys.
"Parker!" called the man.
Parker groaned and led me over to his father. There were introductions all around. And then Mr. Harris said the last thing I'd expected to hear: "Patsy and I are exhausted. We'd love a little break. Would you mind watching the boys for an hour or so, Parker?" What could Parker say? We agreed to take the boys and meet Mr. and Mrs. Harris in an hour and a half at Cinderella Castle.
The Harrises left. Parker and I looked at the boys — Roddy, who was eight and Ricky, who was five. They didn't seem like brats to me.
Since Parker was acting like children were aliens from another planet, I said to the boys, "So what do you guys want to do?" "Could we go on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad?" asked Roddy. "Please?" "Sure," replied Parker.
"But it looks scary," said Ricky nervously.
Parker relaxed a little. "It won't be too bad," he said.
"Will you sit with me?" asked Ricky. He held his hand out to Parker.
I gave Parker a look that said, "These are the brats you've been complaining about?" Parker shrugged.
We got on line for the railroad, which I knew was another roller coaster, but not nearly as wild as Space Mountain. Since I hadn't eaten lunch yet, my stomach could handle it.
Ricky and Roddy screamed from the beginning of the ride until the end. They clutched our hands. They loved every second of it.
"Can we go again?" asked Roddy before we'd even gotten out of the mining car we'd been riding in.
"We could," Parker told him, "but don't you want to do something new? Have you been to Tom Sawyer Island yet?" (Parker looked like he was actually having fun with his stepbrothers.) "No," said Ricky.
"Well, let's go!" said Parker.
So we went. We took a raft over to the island, which turned out to be more like a park, and Ricky and Roddy had a blast. There were hills to climb and a
Still, by the time the ride was over, my knees were shaking, and Parker had to help me out of the spacejet.
"You okay?" he asked, looking worried.
I tried to come up with an answer that wasn't too disgusting. As we left the ride, traveling along a moving walkway, I decided not to say, "No, I'm about to puke all over you," or, "I'm fine, but how'd you like to see what I had for breakfast this morning?" Instead, I replied, "Well, um, could we get me a wheelchair?" Parker laughed. But he was concerned. When we left Space Mountain, we found a spot to sit down and Parker bought us each a soda. He made me wait until mine was sort of flat before I began sipping it. By the time I was finished, I felt lots better — but not good enough to try another ride.
We settled on strolling from store to store, even though Parker had been right: we could shop anywhere.
"But not for the perfect Disney World souvenir," I pointed out.
"That's true. Is that what we're doing?" "Don't you think we should? Who knows when we'll be back here again." So we started looking. The only problem was that I had just $8.60 left, and I didn't want some little pennant or sticker. I wanted something nice. I finally found the perfect thing in the gift shop in Cinderella Castle. It was a glass unicorn charm, and it cost only six dollars. After I'd paid for it, Parker helped me fasten it to this gold bracelet I was wearing. The bracelet used to belong to my great-aunt. It's an antique, and when Mom gave it to me, she said that whatever I did, I was to keep it in the family. I'm not sure how much money if s worth, but it has a lot of sentimental value. The charm looked great on it.
Anyway, then Parker bought a T-shirt for himself. (I guess boys don't care so much about souvenirs.) By that time, I was feeling fine again. In fact, I was hungry. As we walked through Frontierland looking for a place to eat, Parker suddenly stopped in his tracks and said, "Uh-oh." "What-oh?" "If s my family," Parker told me. "My dad, the stepmother, and the brats." I looked where Parker was pointing and saw a very nice-looking man and woman and two cute little boys.
"Parker!" called the man.
Parker groaned and led me over to his father. There were introductions all around. And then Mr. Harris said the last thing I'd expected to hear: "Patsy and I are exhausted. We'd love a little break. Would you mind watching the boys for an hour or so, Parker?" What could Parker say? We agreed to take the boys and meet Mr. and Mrs. Harris in an hour and a half at Cinderella Castle.
The Harrises left. Parker and I looked at the boys — Roddy, who was eight and Ricky, who was five. They didn't seem like brats to me.
Since Parker was acting like children were aliens from another planet, I said to the boys, "So what do you guys want to do?" "Could we go on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad?" asked Roddy. "Please?" "Sure," replied Parker.
"But it looks scary," said Ricky nervously.
Parker relaxed a little. "It won't be too bad," he said.
"Will you sit with me?" asked Ricky. He held his hand out to Parker.
I gave Parker a look that said, "These are the brats you've been complaining about?" Parker shrugged.
We got on line for the railroad, which I knew was another roller coaster, but not nearly as wild as Space Mountain. Since I hadn't eaten lunch yet, my stomach could handle it.
Ricky and Roddy screamed from the beginning of the ride until the end. They clutched our hands. They loved every second of it.
"Can we go again?" asked Roddy before we'd even gotten out of the mining car we'd been riding in.
"We could," Parker told him, "but don't you want to do something new? Have you been to Tom Sawyer Island yet?" (Parker looked like he was actually having fun with his stepbrothers.) "No," said Ricky.
"Well, let's go!" said Parker.
So we went. We took a raft over to the island, which turned out to be more like a park, and Ricky and Roddy had a blast. There were hills to climb and a
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