There's this one toy, a propeller that hooks up to a balloon & flies around like a helicopter. Great idea, alas the designer never bothered attaching a balloon to his device- either that, or he was a sadist. Connecting a full balloon to the propeller nozzle thingie was tedious and aggravating, the unpleasantness magnified by Fuss' loud, incessant demands that you HURRY UP, DADA.
You won't be surprised that I disappeared the infernal thing.
Life's too short for toys that dangerously raise your blood pressure.
So, imagine my delighted amazement this morning when Fuss ambled up with a brand new one to assemble.
I cast a gimlet eye on the contraption. The attachment point looked different, so with Fuss looking on expectantly I decided to give it a shot.
Fifteen seconds later, following the 10th iteration of HURRY UP, DADA! and the third failed attempt to fit the business end of the balloon over the cheap ass, way too big nozzle, I pitched the infernal thing to the floor with a profane anglo saxonism.
"DADA!" Fuss exclaimed, "You can't say THAT!"
"Why not!" I growled, still irate.
"Because that's what GOSH DARNIT is for!"
"Hah! You're right, Fuss...I'm sorry!"
My polite little man.
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