I have to warn you now: Once you let a Mylar balloon inside your
house, life, as you know it, will never be the same.
I have to warn you now: Once you let a Mylar balloon inside your house, life, as you know it, will never be the same.
Oh sure, at first they seem harmless enough. After all, what’s not to like about a cheery, colorful 3-foot balloon with “Happy Birthday” written in purple letters along the top? All I can say is: Ha! After you’ve spent some time together, it will not take long for you to discover that, 1) the primary function of these kinds of balloons is to shadow your every move and, 2) they have a life span of approximately forever, since they are made from the same material as bulletproof vests.
Now some of you still might not be seeing the problem. In fact, some of you might be thinking, “So what? At least I’ll get my money’s worth.” But, believe me, you would do best to steer clear of any you see coming your way until you’re absolutely sure you can take on such a heavy commitment.
Take, for instance, a particular resilient balloon we named Mr. Smiley Face, which lasted so long after one of my son’s birthday parties, we gave it its own place at the table and claimed it as a tax deduction.
The first thing every morning, Mr. Smiley Face would be waiting patiently by the kitchen table for breakfast. If I went out, he’d see me off at the door. When I came back, his smiling face would be there to greet me. And whenever I’d watch TV he’d cheerfully hover in front of the screen, crowding out the picture.
“Shhhhh! Don’t say anything,” I whispered to my husband one night during dinner. “Mr. Smiley Face might hear you! Right now he’s waiting for me in the laundry room because the dryer alarm just went off, and he thinks I’m going to check the clothes.”
“What?” he said, “Mylar balloons don’t have minds of their own. They’re not stalkers. That’s just crazy.”
“Oh, sure, you might think they just sail along on air currents, but then how to do you explain Mr. Smiley Face lurking behind the door in the bedroom when I put my pajamas on last night,” I demanded.
My husband must have agreed with me, because he couldn’t come up with anything to say.
He just walked around the house, shaking his head.
The last straw came when I caught Mr. Smiley Face trying to get into the shower with me.
“For goshsakes, leave me alone,” I shouted, grabbing its ribbon and waving my fist at it. “Leave me alone, or else!”
If you still don’t believe that Mylar balloons have a mind of their own, just ask my friend Carol, who has been followed around by a certain Mrs. It’s-a-Girl ever since her daughter was born 11 eleven months ago.
“Everywhere I go, there it is,” she told me one day over coffee. “In the kitchen. Outside the nursery door. Over the hamper. Once I found it hovering over the bassinet in the middle of the night, looking in on the baby.” She looked around the room with a hunted expression in her eyes, and then whispered, “I’m just never alone any more.”
Of course, some people have tried to get rid of Mylar balloons by relocating them somewhere else like, say, to a neighbor’s house or in the next state. But the freaky thing is that they will always, always find their way back
inside your house.
Others have tried finishing them off by giving them a good poke with a pair of sharp scissors, but somehow this just seems, well, wrong.
However, as it turns out, I didn’t have to worry. One morning I came down to make breakfast and found Mr. Smiley Face lying face down in the living room, a hapless victim of the ceiling fan. So I did what any good parent would do: I gently broke the news to my kids, then quickly tossed it in the trash can before it had a chance to suddenly re-inflate and spring back to life.
“Good-bye, Mr. Smiley Face!” my kids called, wiping tears from their eyes. “We’ll miss you!”
And call me crazy, but it will be sort of lonely around here.
At least until another birthday comes around.
