Whatever the case, I can now confirm the rumors. I was on the Pirates ride at Magic Kingdom yesterday with an adorable greeter - dirty blond hair, pouty lips, a Scottish accent. We were light petting in the boat when the solitary woman in the back row, right behind us, pulled out a mason jar. I probably wouldn't have noticed her since she was almost completely smothered by a black dress, but at the time, I was half-turned around nibbling my greeter's ear, and I couldn't help but notice a gleam of light as she unscrewed the tin cap. Over the Jolly Roger BGM, I could hear the woman sobbing, her shoulders shaking out of sync with the drunken sailor tack of the boat's track.

I positioned my date's hand in my crotch (as you do) to keep her distracted while I watched the woman through a veil of dirty blond greeter hair. Very carefully, she dislodged the contents of the jar into her hand. Under the dim light of the caverns, it looked like dirt, but I've seen her brand of sorrow before, and I knew she wasn't mourning a few ounces of earth. Muttering a prayer to herself, she scattered a bit of the ash into the waters of the Captain's Room and again at the Wench Auction. When we got to the Burning Jail, she reluctantly opened her fingers and let the rest go.

She was so caught up in her grieving, she didn't notice me, which was just as well, since I would have been hard pressed to say anything appropriate, what with my awkward position and the Scottish Banger in my shorts. When the boat brought us back to the Bayou, we disembarked and the woman disappeared into the crowd.

Buddhists believe there is value in circumstance. Western cynics believe in the Self-Fulfilling Prophecy. Now that I have allowed the somber ghost of death into my consciousness, have I opened myself to the world of the macabre? Was my front row view of this woman's grief meant to comfort my own grieving?

Disney is supposed to be my safe harbor, a sanctuary from the quiet wrath of the Reaper, but lately, I've been finding dark symbolism in even the most mundane activities, Hidden Mickey skulls in my wainscoting. Until this spate of wanton morbidity passes, I think I'll stay away from the Haunted House.