At the beginning of June The Affectionate One had a birthday. A week or so before, we went shopping for decorations and party paraphernalia. This included a trip to the Dollar Store where she was delighted with all the balloons hanging from the ceiling just beyond her grasp.
Thank goodness for small blessings. I'm just saying.
Anyway, both The Calm One and I were sweetly badgered into buying The Affectionate one a balloon. We confirmed that she could, indeed, pick any balloon to her liking. Her choice was an unexpected one.
Especially since there were so many pink and purple balloons dangling ever so close to her outstretched arm.
We asked her repeatedly if she was sure that this was the balloon she wanted and pointed out various other appropriate choices. She was adamantly sure. The lady at the checkout register was a bit confused - not unlike The Calm One and I - but The Affectionate One was very confident and proud of her choice. She announced to everyone within shouting distance that this was her first balloon of her sixth birthday and she hoped the balloon would survive until the party, a mere week and a half away. I think one of her bedtime prayers may have even included such phrases as, "and I hope my brudders don't hit my balloon," and "keep balloon safe." She had high hopes, our little girl.
Much to her father's chagrin and to the delight of other Wendy's patrons, she just HAD to bring her new balloon into the restaurant. You know, in case it "got hungry." Evidently, a phenomenon of special concern among the four to six year old set.
Bless her over-the-hill heart, anyway.