I recently have a chance to go to Story Land.
For those unfamiliar with this weirdly themed fun park, it basically provides kiddie-sized rides loosely based on children's tales, such as Cinderella and Mother Goose. It has the Polar Coaster, Wooden Shoe ride, an antique car track, and things like turtle-themed tilt-a-whirl and flowery tea cups that spin.
They've also added an old-fashioned wooden roller coaster for the older "kids" (aka "adults") that can cause one's Small World mac 'n' cheese to hurl up and over anyone nearby as the puke flies past at seventy-plus miles per hour. This coaster is not for the feint of heart. If you prefer to stay within a decent landing distance should something go wrong, stick to the Polar Coaster, as I do.
For the first time ever in all the times that I have been there, Cinderella's castle is open and her pumpkin coach is running. My grandnieces are thrilled with that, while I am content to sit in the shade of a big tree outside of the castle since it is roughly 90 degrees outside in the sun.
Of course we must go on the water rides: Dr. Geyser, where I take a good round of direct water hits, and a few passes on the Bamboo Chute, where my sister, who knows I hate heights, decides to duck in time for me to catch the brunt of the incoming wave at the bottom of the free-fall. Yes, we bought the photo of our descent and I managed to look like I am not about to crap my drawers despite feeling that I very well might be.
My grandnieces, who are almost three, peter out after a long day, and the theme park, open for two more hours, becomes my sister's and my playground. We get into the Swan Boats and are warned by the attendant that we may NOT play bumper boats while we are out there. "I know your kind," he says, "and I'll have my eye on you two." Instead, I lead us in several very slow water donuts since I'm not allowed violence even at two miles per hour.
"Is it okay if we sit here on this back bench?" we oh-so-innocently ask the young pirate ship captain.
"Oh, sure. No problem," he smoothly smiles back at us. "What are your names?" he asks us, and we ignorantly oblige.
We take our seats, completely unaware that we are about to become the captain's straight men. About ten seconds in, the kid starts making fun of me, comparing me to Captain Hook and claiming my evil twin is the captive pirate dummy on the nearby shoreline. He also convinces my sister to play-act being hit by a cannonball.
At the end of the ride, he tells his crew of young families that if they have had a good ride on the ship, they can thank Captain Addison (himself), but if they had a bad time, they can thank Captain Heliand. We joke around some more with him on the way out, holding up the last ship ride of the day as the line snakes into dusk.
I know, I know. Story Land is for kids, right? I never claimed maturity as one of my strengths, though. The funny thing is -- I hope someone in my family wants to go again next summer because I'm all-in and will gladly give up my pride just to yell out one more "Arrrrr, arrrrr, arrrrr" because, shiver me timbers, I had a helluva good time.
