But It's FLUFFING Disneyland! / by LD

Story time, children. Gather 'round and be sure to have those flasks handy because this one's a doozy. It takes place at the Happiest Place on Earth, which was temporarily and unseasonably transported to Dive Bar, Twilight Zone, USA for a few short minutes last Thursday evening. And because it was Disneyland, and I'm most certainly a classy gem of a gal, I'm just going to insert the word "Fluff" whenever a saltier adjective was deployed.

I was enjoying a glass of wine* in the Napa Rose Restaurant lounge at Disneyland's Grand Californian Hotel with Brett (single malt) and Brady (a Hef, I think). If you've never been to Napa Rose, I'd recommend it with a whole heap of exaltations because it is one of my favorite restaurants. The seasonal menu is always chockablock full of delicious combinations and the wine list is about nine pages long and includes a $3000 bottle of Screaming Eagle. In other words, this ain't Goofy's Kitchen. It might be more casual due to its proximity to Disneyland, but it certainly still qualifies as Adults-only-preferred fine dining.

While we were enjoying our drinks, a duo of preschool-age children were tearing a swath of destruction across the lounge. Team Tornado was, apparently, unsupervised by their parents, so every thirty seconds they'd stumble around the corner and chase each other past our table. Though I wasn't about to say anything, that sort of behavior is generally considered rude no matter where you're dining, and I and my fellow dining companions were no less annoyed by the game of Duck-Duck-Goose that was circling our table.

Finally, an older gentleman who was dining in the corner stood up and approached the eye of the storm. Though it was muffled, I could make out that he was respectfully requesting the parents ever-so-kindly put a leash and muzzle on their brood (but like I said, his appeal was delivered far less bluntly).

"This is DISNEYLAND!" Came The Father's indignant reply.

"No," The Gentleman countered, "This is the finest dining establishment in Orange County."

(True. One point for the silver fox.)

The aggravated Father muttered something else in an air of defiance and The Gentleman explained that he likes children, but that this was no place to bring your young ones if you can't control them. He returned to his seat and we returned to our conversation.

A few minutes later, The Father stormed over to The Gentleman's table, stopping just short of his shoulder. "I can't believe you just FLUFFING said that to me, fluffer!" He huffed.

"You can't FLUFFING speak to me like that!" He puffed.

The Gentleman was caught off guard. "I sincerely apologize," he stammered.

"LIKE FLUFF YOU WILL!" Bellowed The Father. "You don't FLUFFING speak to me like that! FLUFF! Don't you EVER fluffing speak to me like that! I'll do whatever I FLUFFING want to!"

You get the idea.

Eventually an older woman dining with the family pulled The Father aside with a firm, "ENOUGH OF THIS." (I can only assume she was his mother, in a deft and perhaps 30-years-too-late demonstration of what parental discipline should look like.)

The Father hurled a few more fluffs in The Gentleman's direction and proceeded to pitch a prissy snit fit in the corner for the duration of his meal.

As they filtered out of the lounge, other diners chose teams by offering their thanks to The Gentleman or his "It's Us Helpless Parents Against The Evil Childless World!" nemesis. I briefly considered making a t-shirt until I remembered I left my screen printer at home.

But you can bet I'd have been on Team Find Dining with a bottle of that Screaming Eagle for refreshment.

*It was an old vine Zin, if you must know. The Zen of Zin was a bit better, I think, so choose wisely next time you find yourself in the Napa Rose lounge ordering one of the two zinfandels on the menu.