My kid said her one birthday wish was to wake up to some balloons. The door to her room is on the other side, waiting to be opened.

Image from preview.redd.it and submitted by imagepoem
image showing My kid said her one birthday wish was to wake up to some balloons. The door to her room is on the other side, waiting to be opened.

imagepoem on August 24th, 2019 at 15:25 UTC »

I had to look up efficient balloon tying techniques on YouTube.

And I'm pretty sure I now have Chinese balloon factory dust mouth cancer.

But worth it.

Update: It worked perfectly, she was really happy. My biggest surprise is how long it took for the balloons to finish spilling after she opened her door. I expected one big sploosh, but it seemed like they kept avalanching onto her for nearly a minute.

newcitynewme724 on August 24th, 2019 at 16:08 UTC »

1 of 2 things happened:

Everything according to plan and the balloons fell into her room.

They all got wedged and she opened up to a balloon wall.

RamsesThePigeon on August 24th, 2019 at 16:21 UTC »

This reminds me of a prank that my father played on me.

Back when I was about sixteen years old, my father started renovating our kitchen. This required him to be up at the crack of dawn every morning so that he could make some progress on things before heading in to work. He was pretty conscientious about his activities, but as a result of the incessant noise, I learned to sleep through the sounds of sawing, hammering, and bizarrely amused mutterings about one thing or another not going to plan.

Anyway, during this same period, I started waking up to sheets of newspaper across the outside of my door frame. According to my father, these were allegedly being put in place as a means of keeping dust – a hazard of doing indoor construction – from getting into my bedroom. Since my door opened inward (thus leaving the aforementioned newspaper in place), my solution for dealing with the flimsy obstacles was to simply tear through them before getting on with my day. After a week or so, though, I stopped even bothering with the tearing-down process, and I took to just strutting right through the black-and-white veils, using my own forehead as a battering ram.

That was about when my father nailed a piece of plywood up behind the newspaper.

He thought it was funny as hell.