Twinkle: Elitist B*tch

So I had an epiphany tonight in the Rainforest Cafe at Downtown Disney.

You know how all our friends are when choosing restaurants: it has to be fresh; it has to be local. All the better if it involves Capriole goat cheese and kale from the Grasshopper CSA. We all like to rave about Kathy Cary and Jim Gerhardt and Edward Lee; our bourbon cocktails must be handmade creations by the incomparable Joy Perrine.

So I haven't been a fan of the Rainforest Cafe ever since we were forced into going with my inlaws and extended family during our Chicago days. But when my cousin, who lives down here (and is very normal and fun) suggested it as a family-friendly choice near Disneyworld, I agreed. Even though I b*tchily thought I'd like to try somewhere local and farm fresh (not on the grounds of Disney, clearly). At the same time, I do know that I'm in the wrong place on earth to be railing against marketing, commercialism, and chain restaurants, so the Rainforest Cafe really wasn't that big a deal. But I have to admit, I did think, "Ugh...can't we try someplace local?"

Anyway, my epiphany came when one of the Rainforest Cafe's trademark simulated thunderstorms broke out, and a family of elephants emerged from the walls to sound their trumpets. My children's faces showed a mixture of shock, awe, and joy, and that's when I was shocked and awed (although not overjoyed) to realize that I am an elitist b*tch. They were having fun, everyone there was having fun, and I should have just gone with it to begin with. Everything doesn't always have to involve farm-fresh Kentucky bison in a red wine demi-glace. I have always been a "when in Rome" kind of a girl, which is why I will not balk tomorrow when my daughters explore Walt Disney World--the most magical and corporately-manufactured place on earth--in their politically incorrect princess gowns. Because I'm in a simulated version of Rome, and by golly there's something fun about that.

Later I almost took off a toenail after hitting my foot against the bathroom door in the hotel.

You know who's an even bigger elitist b*tch? Karma.