On Saturday (yes I know it’s Wednesday – it’s been too bloody hot to sit at the computer) The Kid had her family graduation party. I stopped for flowers for her (and I do wish in retrospect that I’d gotten something more unusual than roses), and went against my own preferences and bought a balloon for the florist to blow up and put with them.
I hate balloons. Always have. Even when I was just a kid I didn’t see the point. Ooh, a thing on a string. Wow. Fun. *bounce*bounce* Now what am I supposed to do with it?
(The below is not the actual balloon; that one had stars. It was pretty, as evil things sometimes are.)
That balloon knew how I felt. I got out to the car, and while I was unlocking the car I realized that, although it had been attached to the roses by a clip – the balloon had escaped. It took off. Weighted down, it couldn’t fly – but it could scoot, and did.
In front of a car.
I don’t think it was suicidal, I think it was just trying to foil pursuit. The car stopped, and I saw the driver and passenger looking at me like “What the -?” I waved them on – damned if I was going to chase a stinking piece of mylar into traffic – and then I didn’t run, I walked after it. Muttering. It got hung up in a shrubbery (and it wasn’t happy – it was straining at the string), so I nabbed it, called it a name or two, and dragged it back.
I put the flowers in the passenger seat, and shoved the balloon in the back, rolled down the front windows – it was really, really hot – and started for home. Two minutes later the balloon had made its way into the passenger seat and was batting at the less-than-half-open window. I figured it was safe enough – the window was open about an inch and a half more than the balloon was wide … I did not allow for the wiliness of the thing. Next thing I knew it was out and seeking the skies. Naturally every light was green and traffic was with me, so I couldn’t haul it back inside, but I did roll the window up on the ribbon, figuring the clip would stop it if nothing else did.
I hate balloons.