Whereupon my San Diego adventures continue and my expectations still keep shattering (and it's only the first day)

Obviously, the San Diego zoo was high on my list of priorities upon coming to this dark and desolate land. "You mean after being reunited with your daughters," remarked Savannah, spraying suntan lotion on the back of my legs. "Don't forget my nose," I told her, attaching my very-cool magnetic sunglasses to my Mr. Magoo prescription bifocals, "you know how my 4th graders tend to get distracted from learning if I have a red nose."

I was enchanted from the very moment I arrived. "Savannah! Look! Look!" I grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the display window. Could anything be more precious? "They have margaritas here!" Savannah pulled me away. "We're here to see the animals, Mom," she reminded me.

First on the line-up was the dangerous Galapagos tortoise of which my husband harbors warm childhood memories of  riding like a Shetland pony manned by a warp Wyatt Earp (who, fun fact, lived in San Diego for about ten years) before PETA put a stop to the reptile-riding rodeos of our youth. Take away our candy cigarettes, too, why don't ya? I got into an argument with a guy who tried convincing me that a tractor-sized flat disc covered in sand submerged in a shallow pool of water surrounded by gators was some sort of exotic turtle. Hey buddy, I got a broken-down bridge in Letchworth State Park to sell ya. So what if the tractor-tire shivered some sand off. So what if it flicked what looked like a tiny tail at us. I was a gal grounded in reality.

My main goal, obviously, was the koalas but Sydney demanded that we wait until she got off work and could join us so as to share in my delight in first seeing these cuddly little creatures. "What are we going to do now?" I wondered, drifting back to the margaritas. "The San Diego zoo has over 4,000 animals," Savannah told me, pulling me in the opposite direction. "I wonder how many different varieties of margaritas they have?" I pondered. Then I spotted the sky-fari. "That's an awful

long line," my daughter frowned, spotting hordes of toddler-tantrums and preschool pouting snaking along the sidewalk. "Puh-leeze," I whined. As we waited, I commented, "The only thing that could make this moment any better would be an ice-cream cone ("or a margarita," I added parenthetically.}" Savannah missed my subtle hint so I sulked silently for a bit. ("Silently?" Savannah asked.)

Before you knew it ("Twenty-five minutes later," Savannah clarified), we were soaring above the zoo, spotting animals. "Look...a sparrow!" I shouted. Too soon, the ride was over.

And then it happened...just when I thought that what I really wanted to see was a koala, I discovered that what I really wanted to see was Otis, the San Diego hippo. He was delightfully rambunctious. Tip-toeing daintily across underwater rocks, gliding gracefully through his placid pond until, without warning he erupted out, a hippo hurricane of snapping jaws and teeth. He roared and bellowed. We roared and bellowed back. "Is this your version of fireworks?" Savannah asked as I clapped and carried on. The crowd abruptly fell silent as Otis sudden shifted into reverse, backing up strategically to a convenient boulder that shall henceforth be called, "Lack-of-Pride Rock." "I think THAT is Otis's version of fireworks," I whispered, my eyes unable to unsee what I had just seen.

It was time to meet up with Sydney who henceforth would be known as the grumpiest mammal at the San Diego Zoo. She stomped over to us. Stomp, stomp, stomp. "I had a bad day," she snarled. "I don't want to talk about it. Now let's go see the koalas." Stomp, stomp, stomp. Frightened, Savannah and I scurried after her.

"They're sleeping," I observed, disappointed. "Savannah, throw a rock at one." She refused (I'm kidding PETA). Sydney immediately began scouring the ground for one but Savannah rushed ahead, shouting, "This one's awake!" The crowd watched happily as our little guy ("He's smaller than I thought he would be," I admitted, "Like the Mona Lisa.") munched sleepily on a Eucalyptus leaf. We gasped with horror as the leaf left his furry little grasp and floated to the ground. We looked around for help. Zoo guests rapidly untied their sneakers to assemble a giant shoelace lasso but the leaf, unfortunately, could not be saved. Traumatized, I asked to leave the zoo immediately.

My spirits improved when I learned that the mountain separating me from the parking lot could be traversed by a series of uphill people-movers. "What wonder of man is this..." I shouted, immobile-ly mobile, "I shall never walk again!" "You barely walk now," Savannah noted, righting me as I tumbled off the people-mover.

Phase two of our three-part adventure had concluded...and the day was not yet near to being done. Still ahead:  How to eat a burrito and cajole an unforgiving mob...oh! And a street fight! Is it time to go home yet?