I Can’t Grouse About the Mouse House

My Unglamorous But Worthwhile Stint as Cinderella

Once upon a time (don’t get any ideas, this isn’t a fairy tale), there was a little girl who dreamed of white weddings, pixie dust, prattling forest animals and kisses strong enough to shake you alive. She made Tinkerbell-shaped angels in the snow and had such giddy tea parties with her dolls, the Queen herself would have begged, borrowed and stolen just for an invite.

Unfortunately, like most little girls, she grew up, but not before moving to Orlando, Florida at the age of 11. I’d like to report that I …