These lovely balloons came from the Giant.
Lately, I’ve been watching my budget; I’ve set my sights toward a Kindle e-reader or tablet. That means working overtime hours at my day job. My downfall came when I went food shopping this morning at the Giant and got waylaid by an enormous pink butterfly balloon.
I’ve already got two pink Mylar butterflies at home, but that’s not the point. I’ve got a weakness for Mylar balloons in general, and every time I shop at any supermarket, more balloons call to me, tempting me to buy. At my usual haunts, the cashiers have gotten to know my tastes, and they will lay out a huge assortment, knowing I will succumb. At the pharmacy where I get Mike’s medicine, the Mylar assortment goes out in the aisles as soon as I call in for a refill. So I wind up leaving with something in addition to the medicine. One cashier assured me that they had plenty more of balloons with which to tempt me.
As soon as the pink butterfly flew my way, it squatted on my head, marking its territory. There was no point in running because all the aisles were riddled with balloons–Mylar flowers, insects, Disney characters, roses. They popped up in strategic places. I walked in, thinking about a fruit platter, and then those butterflies swarmed my way. All thoughts of fruit and anything else left my head. The last two visits to the Giant have matched me with pink butterflies, and now the inside of my car has taken on a pinkish tinge. In the interest of conserving resources, the Mylar butterflies hold their helium well.
Because it was getting near 90, I turned on the AC as soon as I got to the car. This enables the balloon to keep cool while I stowed my groceries. I must be the only person this side of Pennsylvania who will cool down a car to protect a balloon.
I’m still planning to get that e-reader, perhaps sometime in August. I’m thinking along the lines of Kindle Fire, or something that I can use for reading and sending email, as well as reading eBooks. But the balloons will always lure me into buying at the store. Always. They don’t call me Barbara of the Balloons for nothing.