Not Even the Slightest Bit Fair

It's not fair when 1, you go to see Peter Pan at your high school and 2, it smells like Chlorine so you think of Pirates of the Carribean, and 3, the kid sitting behind you is wearing "happy" cologne which is what Soarin' over California smells like. And your cousins are going in December and your friend is going in January and your parents got back in October.

I crave me some Disneyland. My home away from home.
I want to smell the carmel apples and the peanut brittle.
I want to ride on the top of the omnibus all the way around Main Street.
I want my feet to hurt.
 I want to ride the train on "A grand circle tour of Disney's Magic Kingdom."
I want to scream my guts out on Thunder Mountain.
I want to yell "HEEEEYY ABBBBBOOOOOOTT!" and "THIRD BASE!" on Matterhorn.
I want to "sing like the birdies sing."
I want to sit on a bench, joyfully eating my churro and watch everyone as they file out the front arches when the park is closing.
I want a Wetzel's pretzel.
I want my hands and the steering wheel to get all hot and sticky inside H. E. double hockeysticks on Mr. Toads Wild Ride.
I want to relax on Mark Twain.
I want to find all the hidden mickey's again. (Yes. I've done it before.)

I want Disneyland.