Remember the story of the Valentine’s Day balloons? A story that started 105 days ago (thereabouts — I find calendar math difficult) with 75 balloons decorating our bedroom?
And then they just. Wouldn’t. Die.
You may remember that over a month ago, one of the remaining babies tried to kill me in my sleep. Don’t worry, it’s now swimming with the fishes!
Shortly after that episode we were down to 6 balloons. And then it was like they all gave up. Their spirits were collectively broken by my lack of dying. Within a matter of days they all fell to the ground.
All but one.
The last, a deep pink anomaly, stayed glued to the ceiling. (Not literally. I checked.) Not only did it need to win the balloon-off, it needed to break every single balloon-floaty record IN THE WORLD.
A few weeks ago it FINALLY started to lose some of its floatyness, and began to explore the house. I was able to capture footage of it introducing itself to our bedroom fan.
(Note: There are no popping balloons in this video. I swear. I know some of you fear that noise. I’m with you. This video is free of scary balloon deaths.)
Since this brief-but-humiliating encounter, it spends most of its time cowering in the corner, hiding behind my yoga bolster. It’s all, “Hey, you’re into that yoga crap, you wouldn’t hurt a defenceless creature, would you?”
Yeah right. Prove to me you weren’t in on the whole “choking me in my sleep” escapade, and I’ll spare you from the scissors for another day.
Maybe.
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