“So, you want Mickey Mouse to help you get laid?”
I knew it was a mistake to attempt small talk with the man at immigration. Or to tell him the real purpose of my visit.
“Um … yeah! I believe in magic, I’m going to wish upon a star, and hope I find true love. Well, not true love, but you know. Some love.”
“Well, enjoy your vacation, kid. Give Tinkerbell a kiss from me,” Immigration Man chuckled as he allowed me into Orlando.
I’d muddled through my teens without ever going on the rite-of-passage post-exam trip to Faliraki or Magaluf. My friends would return festooned with love bites, neon sunburn and giddy, lurid tales of getting off with people in exchange for vodka shots, drinking until they could neither stand nor see, and with souvenirs that would clear up after a course of antibiotics. I’d get drunk on a cocktail of envy, schadenfreude and relief. Yes, the trips sounded like a lot of fun, but I had a Serious Boyfriend. Missing out was proof of my maturity. Why would you want to snog someone silly on the back of a banana boat when you could be having an earnest, intense discussion about how you would make love last if you didn’t go to the same university?
After six years of earnest, intense discussions, I broke up with my Serious Boyfriend just after my 21st birthday – and set about cramming years of delayed teenage fun into a single summer.
The trouble was that most of my friends had acquired their own Serious Boyfriends and Girlfriends, so Faliraki had lost its allure for them. Also, I was a fairly broke student. Realistically, my wild holiday would probably have to be a camping trip. But, Cinderella-style, I got a lucky break. An old schoolfriend was going on her annual family holiday, and her mum said she could invite someone along. She promised me sun, fun and unlimited visits to the breakfast buffet. We were off to Disney World, Florida. “The happiest place on Earth.”
The immigration official was right to be sceptical.
Still, we had both just turned 21, and the first thing we discovered was that Disney World boasted a surprising number of bars. The second thing we discovered was that Disney World was filled with American men who loved British accents. Loved them. The pair of us could have gone out dressed as Winnie-the-Pooh and Eeyore, and they would still have queued up to flirt with us.
However, Disney World is not Faliraki. Perhaps because we both spoke like Mary Poppins, we were treated with an old-fashioned courtesy and charm. The men I met wanted to chat, a few of them bought me elaborate cocktails, and there was quite a lot of kissing – but it never went much further than that. I’ll never forget sweet, sleepy-eyed divorcee Noah, who had come to Disney World to commemorate his decision to leave the Mormon Church. He was visibly anxious and had such a terrible opening gambit (“So, you like, uh, rides?”) that my heart fluttered. I’d found a man who was even more awkward than me! Later in the trip, my friend and I sneaked into a staff party, and I met a chef from Miami who was introduced to me as the Makeout Man. I don’t think I need to supply any details, but I am prepared to admit that the nickname was entirely justified. Then there was the adorable Justin, an orthodontist from Maryland who struck up a conversation over the breakfast buffet (“I see you’re a Nutella fan too!”) and took me out for cocktails. After his fourth Tokyo iced tea, he leaned in to kiss me – and fell off his bar stool. If I’m honest, I was relieved.
At the time, I felt a little raw and anxious. I’d outgrown my Serious Relationship, but I still didn’t really know who I was or what my life as a single woman would look like. I was excited, hopeful – and vulnerable. I don’t think I would have been ready to neck shots and do saucy things with balloons on a Club 18-30 holiday. Being inexperienced didn’t mean I wanted to immediately experience everything, all at once.
I was in a state of romantic arrested development. So, while Disney World is not the obvious place to have yourself a summer of love, it was exactly where I needed to be. My long-term relationship had always felt stressful, difficult and dramatic. I thought love was supposed to be challenging, and that these were all hallmarks of adulthood. After that holiday, and a lot of kissing, I felt carefree for the first time. I learned that flirting doesn’t need to be complicated, that men aren’t mysterious challenges to master and that snogging someone doesn’t mean you have to live happily ever after with them. Happy right now is enough.
