Dad left the line and mom turned to “Libby darling” to pick up on a conversation they must have started earlier. “So honey, are you sure you’re okay with what we talked about earlier? After Daddy has the surgery, you know it means no more babies for mommy. No more babies means no sisters. Are you sure you’re okay with that? Because if you’re not, you know you can talk to mommy about it.”
Libby looked perplexed. She looked toward her brothers who were busy trying to describe in texted acronymns just how lame their vacation was. She looked toward daddy, mopping his brow from the exertion of sussing out the line situation at a nearby ride. She looked at mommy. “Why does daddy need a surgery so mommy won’t have more babies?”
I spit out my water and laughed out loud, wanting to slap Libby a high five. Mommy looked at me angrily. If I’d had my kids with me we would have shared a “kids say the darnedest” things look, but my sunglasses hid my baggage, so she only saw me as a carefree single woman, and resented my existence. I welcomed her resentment, only wishing I was wearing a push-up bra and stiletto heels to maximize it.
She was right to send it my way. I didn’t need to explain the birds and the bees here on the Indiana Jones line at Disneyland. I didn’t need to badger and break daddy down in the hundred-degree heat to finally understand that he was failing his family––but mostly me—by wanting to snip away our future caretakers. I didn’t need to stand in line anymore for the Indiana Jones ride. So I didn’t.
I walked. I walked and walked and walked. I smiled at princess-rearing Daddies. Sent good karma to memory-making mommies. Bypassed overheated fluffies.
When dawdling on a short line for Buzz Lightyear Astro Blasters, a little Cinderella-wannabee pulled my shirt and told me that I couldn’t step on the lines. It was bad luck to step on the lines. I smiled at her fat little face and continued on my way. “Hello-OOOO! You can’t step on the lines!” she shoved angrily, and I fake-smiled this time, turning to her parents to beam them my step-in-at-anytime signal. They smiled indulgently at their darling, recording her preciousness for their memory scrapbook.
