Alert! Alert! We are under attack!

I hosted a baby shower today. You haven't seen anything funny until you've seen me trying to convince 6 wayward pink and yellow balloons that they need to be in my car on a rainy, windy morning. It was like Wack-A-Mole, The Party Version. I'd guide one in and two would pop out. I'd ease 3 in and the wind would shwoop them all back out in my face - boom! smack! bash! I'm certain that the people in the store were having a good laugh at my expense, but they did not make any moves to come assist me. After at last poking the final floating sphere of joy into my backseat, I drove home. Just for the record, this is extremely unsafe.
Driving with helium-filled balloons in your car should be a ticket-worthy offense. I could not see anything. The balloons slide around along the ceiling building up static, and then come cling to my head while I'm trying to negotiate a tricky merge. It's just a bad idea. I did make it home safely and ushered my floating mass into the house where it met Gus.


Gus has a rather volatile relationship with balloons. He's absolutely convinced that they are a dangerous predator lurking at the ceiling level, but he is so enamored with them that he can't stop staring. Then if the air-conditioning comes on and one moves, he scampers over to hide beside the Big Chair and won't move. But he's brave. Boy, he is brave.