Obviously, this wasn't the first time Alexis had been to Walt Disney World. It was, however, the first time she had been there with enough life experience in her back pocket to actually *care* that she was there. That alone made it an entirely different experience for Mr. Husband and I than all of the other times we had been there. We didn't ride the big rides, and instead found ourselves letting her take the lead on what she wanted to do. It was much more about absorbing her joy than it was creating our own. Of course, we found that to be WAY more fun.

Along with enjoying her glee, I found myself noticing things I hadn't noticed before. For example, I am now very convinced that Disney Imagineers in the 60's spent most of their working hours tripping on acid as they tried to dream up new ways to scare the kiddies. It's a Small World is pretty clear evidence of that.

There is another thing I REALLY can't believe I never noticed prior to last week. It stuck out like a sore thumb once I did, and had me cracking the hell up for hours. Imagineers have some crazy awesome senses of humor. For reals. Let me show you.

Here is Mickey's house, located at the Magic Kingdom:

Decent enough digs for a giant rat. Here's the inside.

Mickey's bedroom. Dude has more shoes than I do.

Mickey's Living Room, complete with evidence of his manhood--the football helmet on the couch, the dead fish hanging over the mantle, and the photos of his mousely adventures hanging on the wall.

Mickey's Man Room. Of course, he's winning the pinball game.

Mickey's Kitchen, which obviously hasn't been used in years. Mickey's such a bachelor.

Finally, Mickey's garage. It's too full of crap to actually hold a car, a concept I know WAY too much about myself.

And now, let's take a look at Minnie's house right next door. It's a bit smaller than Mickey's, which just proves that even in Disney's perfect world, woman make less money than men for doing identical jobs.

The first room you see when you go in Minnie's house is her living room. It is positively filled with photos, statues, and mementos of her relationship with Mickey. (BTW, Mickey doesn't have the same sort of crap. The rats are engaging in a very one-sided sort of infatuation.)

Next to Minnie's pitiful display of mouse-dependence, you walk into her studio. It's where Minnie toils away sewing quilts and painting beautious art.

After that you follow a short little hallway, walk past Minnie's desk, and land inside her kick-ass kitchen. Clearly, the mousette is the master of the cooking domain in her little relationship.

The last room in Minnie's house is her sunroom. It appears to be a very lovely place to sit and read a book.

See it? See what's not quite right? What's . . . missing?

Look through Minnie's house again.

Where the hell does Minnie sleep?

Obviously, Mickey is an ass and demands this his woman cook his dinner at her own place, but that she makes it to his house right next door to sleep. *ahem*

What a dirty rat.