Be Careful What you Wish For

After my entries last week on the Hazards of Cohabitation, I got on the thought train of crazy twilight moments. Guess I have quite a few of them. You may have already read Adventures in Ambien last fall. Here is another one I recently remembered, from that same time frame.

All I had wanted for my birthday was balloons or flowers, and Justin was kind enough to supply both. If you look carefully in this picture, you can see the tip of a mylar balloon to the back of the bunch, on the right side. See it?


After the helium balloons went their merry way to the floor the next day, the mylar remained afloat. I took it upstairs with me to keep next to my bed, because I really liked that balloon.

As we were dozing off to sleep that night, I began to be annoyed by the constant crinkle as the draft from the ceiling fan moved the balloon enough to keep bumping gently against the wall. Tick, tick, tick. So with my eyes closed (did I mention I was all but asleep?), I reached out for the balloon weight, grabbed it in the dark, and threw it with all my might toward the center of the room. Except...

As I released the weight, I just then remembered THE CEILING FAN was also in the center of the room. Oh, no. I saw a flash of what was about to happen. Adrenaline surging, I leapt from my bed shouting, "It's okay! I'm getting it!" Snugged deep into his own slumber by then, this was Justin's first clue that something was awry.

Unfortunately, all the adrenaline in the world couldn't get that balloon into my control fast enough. With a whish, the draft of the fan sucked the balloon right into harm's way.

WHAP-AP-AP-AP-AP!

In the silence of the night, the sound could have been gunfire. Justin shot straight up in bed, still in the dark, still unable to speak or comprehend what might be happening.

With a yell, I grabbed my precious balloon and repeated, "I got it! I got it!" Then I jumped off the bed in the direction of the fan switch, and clawed the wall to turn it off before the long string could get wound around the motor.

Justin finally managed a groggy, "Wh-what? What's going on?"

I cradled the balloon in my hands and sat back down in bed, turning on the light to assess the damage. I filled him in with the blow-by-blow of what had just happened. "My balloon died, though." I showed him the gash across the side.

"Oh," he returned, with relief. "I'm glad it was just the balloon. I thought I was the one dying."

All I wanted was a balloon, and I nearly ended up giving this dear indulgent man a heart attack. I was grieving my balloon, he was grateful to be alive. I am going to have to rethink my birthday list for next year, since apparently balloons and my twilight self are not a good match. Suddenly dinner out sounds like a safer idea.