Back then the eighties were still in full swing, even though the nineties were coming into their own. I was little enough to need a stroller or someone to carry me in order to move around, and when we went to Disneyworld the stroller was the chosen vessel for smallish Cat.
Even though Florida is supposed to be the land of sunshine, oranges, and old people, we only found two out of the three on our visit. As we tried to enjoy a simple tourist day at the Happiest Place on Earth, giant drops of wetness began to fall while the sky turned an ominous gray, with electric flashes that were soon all around us and far too close for comfort. My mother was soon consumed with panic, and began to run for shelter, pushing my stroller haphazardly as she jumped at every lightning bolt and yelled at my siblings to hurry up before they were electrocuted. We weren't dressed for such monsoon weather, so we ran to get something to protect us from the elements, stopping at a small semi-covered shack.
I am the youngest, and as such have always demanded attention. This was no different when I was a baby, and I distinctly remember screaming that under NO circumstances would I be content to stay in the restrictive stroller when we were at a stop. My frazzled mother could not handle my infant whining and set me on the counter, where I had a great view of the merchandise and a great vantage point for grabbing key rings and bracelets. My mom ignored me and quickly purchased several bright yellow Disney ponchos to protect her brood from the rain, figuring that if the smiling image of Mickey on the fronts didn't protect us from the oncoming lightning, then nothing would.
