Celia loves balloons. Loves them like they are people.
She draws faces on them, she gives them names, she plays with them and talks to them.
And when they pop, she mourns. Like her puppy got run over or her best friend moved away.
She’s not similarly bothered when they get left lying around until their heads are shrunken little sacks with their faces unrecognizable. When I have to cut them apart and throw them away, she’s okay.
But if they pop, she’s devastated. It’s her friend, and she loves it. It was special to her. She cries and cries and is heartbroken, until she is promised a new balloon.
At which time the emotional roller coaster will begin again.
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