In exactly one week, I'm boarding a plane to meet my sister in Orlando for six fun-filled days of me, me, me (and Mickey) time.

Even with all the "It's going to thunderstorm" and "Oh my, the humidity" warnings, I can't wait. For the first time: I'm going to Disney World!

I just love Disney. Maybe it's because I can relate to all of the princesses so well.

'Cause, you know, I'm such a princess.

In the past, I've blamed Disney for my lack of a love life.

Where in my life am I going to find someone who can conjure a blue genie and take me on a magic carpet ride?

Slip a glass slipper on my foot?

Wake me up from sweet slumber?

Wait, I get mad at people who wake me up. So I don't think that's a very prince-like quality.

Not that I really need a prince to rescue me. I've dealt with enough dragon- breath people in my life.

But having a fairy godmother who can change my outfit with the wave of her wand would be nice.

Daydreaming about my trip has helped me get through some pretty mundane tasks. That included emptying our water heater, bucket by bucket, when it broke down and leaked everywhere last week.

And my job in sports isn't helpful. Do we not have a "Cinderella" team every year during a championship run? Championship athletes proclaiming they're "Going to Disneyland!"?

I know at 27 I should be over my childlike fascination with the place.

But do you know of a place that's happier than Main Street, U.S.A.?

My grandma's family room doesn't count. Not as many people can fit, and although she's a fabulous cook, I don't think she can feed the masses like the "cast members."

I've been researching — per sister Maile's orders — about all the new rides I'll get to experience.

After many visits to Disneyland, it will be my first trip to Florida. I'm looking forward to Epcot (which for years I sort of thought was just a large golf-ball looking object), Disney's Animal Kingdom Park, Disney-MGM Studios, and of course, the Magic Kingdom.

To appease my "grown up" side, we'll also be going to Pleasure Island, a row of nightclubs where I'll be able to get my dance on.

For the past six or seven years, I've tried to visit California's Disneyland annually.

While many of my friends prefer Las Vegas — which also has a great big piece of my heart — to party and gamble, it is the land of the squeaky-voiced mouse that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Maybe societal norms dictate that I should move on, start daydreaming about a house instead of a mouse.

I don't care.

If Cinderella can make it to her ball, why can't I have a ball?

Reach Leila Wai at lwai@honoluluadvertiser.com.