I was serious about not needing "no stinking theme" but in the
future having at least some idea might be a good thing. Don't get me
wrong, I'm all for winging it. I even wrote, weeks ago, about my "psh, whatever" attitude to party planning but
I still am, no matter what, a woman. And women have pictures of things
in their heads of how things "should" look even if they don't want to.
And men, no matter how much we think they know us, are not, I REPEAT NOT! mind-readers.
Saturday we celebrated Archer's second birthday party at my
parent's house and while my mother and I were out buying food and
drink, I sent Hal out to go buy balloons.
"A nice colorful bouquet!" I said.
"Any particular kind?" He asked.
"Any kind you want, baby."
That is where I went wrong. I should have given him exact orders. I
should have used the word "helium" or "strings" or something besides
"bouquet" because "bouquet" didn't quite cut it. Hal went and got the
kind of balloons he liked and my mother and I came home to this:
... Piles of "one-eyed caterpillar" balloons which I am pretty sure
were meant for a bachelorette party and not a child's two-year birthday
bash. Pretty sure.
"What the hell?" I said, dropping the ice.
"What?"
"Are those penis balloons?"
"No! They're caterpillars! I thought they were cool!"
"Is this all you bought?"
"This is what you asked for!"
"I said bouquet!"
"I thought you just wanted balloons, like... in a bag."
"Are these condoms?"
"No! They're caterpillars!"
"They look like dildos! We're going to decorate my parent's house with huge colorful penises?"
"They have faces!"
"They're cocks!"
"They are not! They're caterpillars!"
"Fine!
They're caterpillars! Great. Thank you. Good job," I finally said,
half-pissed and maybe just a tiny bit pleased. After all, I can
appreciate a good cock and ball joke as much as the next person. Ahem:
Because when life gives you penis-balloons, you make penis-balloon-ade...
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