They almost did not make it on time:  She had gotten in the wrong lane and drove four miles unnecessarily.  They finally got to the carnival and she bought her excited kid a balloon.  The helium balloon was silver and quickly became a refugee.  It escaped her child’s grasp when she was jostled in a crowd.  The four year old was crying so hard she was trembling.  There would be hell to pay.  Her mother had been bamboozled and hounded by a salesperson who had tenaciously assured her, her kid would not lose the antler shaped balloon if she tied it to her pinkie.  Soon the balloon soared in the sky quickly became ant like in the sky.

Her Mom complained of her loss to that pretentious salesman stationed at his desk in his cranberry velvet suit.  He was the quintessential quick talker who knew how sacred her kid’s balloon was.  He explained to the bawling child the synchronicity of all balloons.  Of course not in those words, but said all balloons were born in the sky and when they were released they returned home.  He gave the child a torn velvet clothed doll to calm her down.

The kid left him clutching her doll tightly to her chest.  She had quite an adventure today.