No, it’s not my birthday today. But yes, this is my birthday balloon.
Normally even the best of the mylar balloons will only last for a week, maybe two, rarely for three. Which beats the snot out of the rubber balloons — those losers are flaccid in less than twenty-four hours.
It’s because those He molecules are teeny, tiny little buggers, quick, devious, slippery, tough to keep corralled. Worse than gerbils.
But THIS balloon is a true champ at He wrangling! It’s been over eight weeks since my birthday, and while it’s a tad limpy, this year’s birthday balloon is still hanging in there, reaching for the skies.
Maybe it’s a sign.
But a sign of what? I wish the gods would be a little bit less cryptic when they talk to us mere mortals.
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 