But really, it's not. Really, it's your coworker's birthday and you went to the local grocery store to pick up a dozen balloons and then had to walk the mile back home wielding their bouncing, bobbing forms. I also made the mistake of donning my vintage, flea-market scored, 1980's rainbow jacket, which just added to the spectacle. So there I was, already looking like I just rolled out of my racecar bed, with twelve, brightly colored balloons in tow. Well-wishers I passed chorused "Happy Birthday!" "Happy Birthday!" "Happy Birthday!" At first I felt a compulsion to correct them: "No, no, these aren't for me!" "Aw, these are for a friend, actually!" Then I thought, "HECK YEAH IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! EVERYday's my birthday!" and began beaming back at them: "THANKS!" I felt like a one-woman parade, as though any minute roses would fall at my feet and ticker tape would fly from the windows. If you're ever looking for a pick-me-up, give this a whirl. You won't regret it.
Also, you'll never appreciate how tree-lined your street is until you've traversed it with a fistful of balloons.
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2 comments:
You should have said, "These are balloons for my mother's funeral, a**hole!"
heck yeah it's your birthday! well, it's practically your half birthday (kinda)
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