Growing up, there were two kinds of kids in the world: kids who had been to Disneyland and kids who hadn’t. If you were in the first group, we poor kids naturally hated your guts.
My own family’s version of a vacation was a 13-hour non-stop drive to Salt Lake City to visit relatives twice a year. And by non-stop I mean non-stop, the kind of car trip that necessitates the special cup you just do not spill if you value your life, but which my brother once spilled anyway and the car never smelled the same again.
My mom tried to convince us that Salt Lake was exciting by calling it Mormonland! While it was indeed fun and creepy to watch them grin around their abnormally large white teeth and see them refuse to drink Coke (as a kid this was a sure sign that they were all…
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