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I have spent the past five days in Disneyland Paris, I’m still here but I’m sitting about waiting to get a flight the absolute fuck home. if you can be arsed reading about my experience of Disney adults, then here is a wee thread about them.
I’d heard about Disney adults before and assumed they’d just be folk with a Disney T-shirt on, or a pair of those Mickey Mouse ears on a hairband. Early impressions of the place certainly suggested that I was right.
Loads of them. Minnie Mouse ears mainly, on mums/girls. Mickey Mouse ears on dads. Something that, if you seen at home, you’d mouth to yourself “fucking hell, look at this cunt” if they walked by you.
Then I went into the parks. That’s where things changed. A T-shirt and a pair of ears on an adult is perfectly normal in there. But that’s where the actual Disney adults dwell.
Fully grown women in a Disney princess dress with immaculate hair and make up in full cosplay who will happily stand in the way of a child to get a look at the parade that happens every fifteen minutes. A step up from what I thought was a Disney adult, but no, these are level 1.
Level 2 sees you facing something different - Disney couples. Fucking hell. Dotted around the parks are Disney characters, if you see them you can join a wee queue to get a picture taken with them. Something that (if you’re 10 or 8 years old like my children) is cool as fuck.
DaughterPrickus: “Daddy, there’s Donald Duck! Can we meet him?” Me: *inner voice* “it’s a guy in a costume, mate, do we have to?” *actual voice* “of course, pal, just join that wee queue”.
Then the Disney couple appear. Two actual adults, without children, straight to the person organising the queue with their little bought and paid for card, a card that lets you skip the queue of children so you can get a picture taken with a member of Disney staff in a costume.
Virgins.
I didn’t think that could be topped. I was wrong. Step up level 3, the final boss of Disney adults. I took my children to meet Mickey Mouse. Something you have to be lucky to get a time slot to do. Mickey Mouse has his own special building you go to meet him, not weird at all.
Anyway, may aswell go and meet the main man while we’re here. Into the queue we go. I thought nothing of the guy in front of us in the line. That was until Mickey Mouse appeared from behind a curtain.
The guy in front, taller than me, probably younger but a fully grown man nonetheless, was visibly starstruck, he went weak at the knees and almost collapsed. I’m pretty sure I seen Mickey Mouse himself doing the “what the fuck, mate?” Arms.
Once he came back to normal via the help of the staff member running the queue, he explained that he’s came here from Brazil and it’s always been his dream to meet Mickey Mouse. He then went on to take fucking ages getting thousands of photos taken.
Then he went to the photo booth and got every single photo printed off and framed in various different sizes, we caught up with him after meeting Mickey Mouse because he was taking so long.
Once outside, he walked past me with two carrier bags of his photos, I wanted to point behind him and go “OH MY FUCKING GOD, THERE’S MICKEY MOUSE”, but I didn’t, because I didn’t want to give the cunt a fucking heart attack, or a semi.
Anyway. Fuck Disney adults. Get me home to where food isn’t Mickey Mouse shaped and it doesn’t cost €30 every corner you turn. Scottish water too, mental how much I’ve missed that.
I’ve been to Disneyland.
