More specifically, if you hand out helium balloons, in an unsolicited fashion, to children that are not yours, YOU are the Antichrist.
Let’s have a traumatizing flashback together, shall we?
Rebecca is super pregnant with the third and final demon-spawn. The husband is studying for a certification that would be beneficial to his career. Rebecca, in her infinite helpfulness and wisdom, offers to “get the kids out of his face” each week by taking the two Already Birthed Ones, plus also the Incubating One (in her guts), to the grocery store for the week’s groceries so he can study in peace. This is a terrible experience each and every time, taking upwards of two hours. Rebecca is at that point in her pregnancy where her legs feel like garbage bags full of sand, and that her soul is being crushed into her spine by her own writhing uterus. The girls are at the point in their lives where they are…well…lively. Nevertheless, being a woman of her word, and determined, she persists.One week, she has barely made it into the grocery store when an entirely wretched human female from the grocery store floral department waltzes up and offers the girls (buckled in the cart seats) a bundle of NO FEWER THAN FIVE LARGE BALLOONS. So for the following two hours, she limps around the grocery store, attempting to purchase foodstuffs, vision completely obstructed by five large, evil balloons. The girls bounce them into her face, innocent bystanders, and delicate food items. They have an amazing time.
I have never forgiven that florist, and I never will.
Only three kinds of people would do this:
1. People who don't have children and authentically think they are making your day better
2. People whose children are adults now, and they either don't remember what parenthood was like, or balloons hadn't been invented yet
3. People who have children, but are weirdly vindictive
What is your problem, Rebecca? you ask. Well.
Because the Fighting
Even if you, the Antichrist, had the sense to give each child the same number, color, size, and quality of balloons (but you didn’t, did you?) you didn’t know that you just handed children #1 & 2 their favorite color, but child #3 her LEAST FAVORITE COLOR ON THE PLANET. Or, maybe, just for kicks, one of them is going to let go of his or her ribbon and release the balloons into the ionosphere. What now? What’s your contingency plan, you ass noodle? You got nothing. Point being, if you do not have the delicacy and perception of a hostage negotiator, and an apocalypse-grade child-soothing bug-out bag, you should not be giving children things. None things. Just stop.
Balloons are Terminally-Ill Kittens
Balloons are the bestest thing in the effing universe. They really are. They are shiny, they float, for the love of all that is holy. They dance whimsically at the end of a ribbon, enticing the senses, inspiring the imagination. My children yearn for them. They treasure them.
In this way, balloons are a cruel joke. Balloons have the life-span of an ice cube. Children go to sleep with their treasured toy hovering sweetly in the corner of their room, but wake to wonder why it has deflated, and is now draped sadly over the back of the chair like the testicles of a multicolored elephant. They react as though there has been a Death in the Family. You have to explain things you never wanted to have to explain, like the circle of life, and the laws of physics. You find yourself reading Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart aloud to them, as though that would somehow clarify things.
Balloons are Some Bullshit
Balloons are unfair. When one of you soulless douchebags meanders up to some innocent parent with a bunch of balloons, you have taken away that parent’s ability to choose. Would you like a balloon? you ask. They are in public. The children have seen the balloons. At this point, they must accept the balloon. Not only that, but they are socially obligated to manufacture the pretense of gratitude. When every part of them is crying out Stab! Stab that fuckwit! Staaaaaaaaab! they must instead say, between gritted teeth,
“Oh, thank you so much! How nice! Isn’t that nice, children? Say thank you!”
But they don’t mean it. They hate you. I hate you. We all hate you. Please. Just take the balloons in the back and euthanize them with your car keys. It is the right thing to do.
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