We have a ghost.
A shiny, multi-colored, Happy Birthday-wishing ghost.
He's been floating around our apartment since Yoshi's birthday waaaay back in June,
spending most of his time haunting a corner of our bedroom.
Every so often he'll consider escaping out the open balcony door,
but he always turns back around. What can I say? We have a pretty sweet pad.
I wouldn't want to leave either.
But no matter what happens, he just won't die.
And we don't have the heart to kill him,
even after he managed to get stuck in the box fan.
We found him flapping around helplessly, making his stupid balloon-ghost noises,
and I was ready to punch him in his shiny balloon face until he could haunt no more,
but Ryan pleaded, a compromise was made and so the balloon-ghost's life was spared.
He now resides in our hall closet,
haunting the laundry detergent and
the Christmas wrapping paper I got on sale last January,
deflating a tiny bit more each day until he finally goes flat as a pancake.
I feel relatively confident that he's the oldest balloon-ghost in the world.
Maybe the only balloon-ghost in the world.