Those are totally balls.
Let me back up and start from the beginning.
The morning of my sister’s bridal shower, my mom’s house was in total chaos. Chicken salad was still being made and frantically chilled, butter chips were defrosting, a complicated showering/blow drying schedule was being ignored, and there were still errands to be run. Since my step-dad had already claimed the coveted (at least, by comparison) job of removing the dog poop from the backyard, I gladly volunteered to run last minutes errands. Grabbing punch supplies from the local grocery store and picking up some balloons? Check and double check.
After throwing a couple of liters of ginger ale and frozen juice in to the trunk, I was off to the balloon shop. I was greeted by the sweetest old lady you can imagine.
Go ahead, imagine her.
Short, wrinkled, slightly hunched, arthritic fingers clutching balloons by their brightly covered ribbons. Can’t you just see her? She sent her equally old and equally adorable husband to the back to get the balloons my mom had already ordered, and I asked her if it were possible to get a couple more plain, white balloons for us to attach to the mailbox at the house.
It would be her pleasure, she informed me. As she turned her attention away from me and towards the task of filling a couple of balloons with helium, I took a minute to check out the merchandise. Even though the candies were marked .99 cents (usually my pet peeve–it’s .99 DOLLARS, not .99 CENTS, unless you are feeling extremely generous), I wasn’t even upset. Old people are so cute, I sighed.
Mr. Ballo0ns came out with two big clear bags filled with balloons. He instructed me to take them out of the bag ASAP to prevent them from deflating prematurely. Roger that.
After I paid Mrs. Balloons, she handed me the two additional balloons I’d requested for the mailbox. She said a lot of something about how to adjust the height on the balloons using the complicated knot she’d tied in the ribbons, but all I could focus on was her wrinkled old hand holding, nay, cupping, a delicate ball sack she had fashioned from extra balloons to serve as a balloon weight.
Here, let me refresh your memory:
I think she was playing a trick on me. Either that, or I was on Candid Camera.
Later that night my 4 year old niece was running around the house, rubbing the balloon weights all over her face and unwittingly teabagging herself. I may have peed my pants
a little a lot.