I’m Sorry, that is classified…

A while ago, my eldest daughter turned 11. Eleven! OMG where has all the time gone! But this post is not about how big she is now, and connected to that, how old I am getting (or am!). So fret not, I am not having a middle-age crisis right now – I will save that for another day.

On the day of her birthday, it was a school day, I decided as I do with every birthday, to cook the special dinner. I planned the menu, all of her favorites: Roast pork loin, roast potatoes, chocolate bread and butter pudding, etc. etc. etc…. The table in the dining room had to be laid properly – white linen, good dinner ware and decorations. We have a chandelier type light fitting so I thought of hanging pink and lilac balloons on silver ribbon from that, with pink tulle on the table and pink flowers. Very pretty. I had everything except the pink balloons. No crisis there – before baking the birthday cake and making the pudding, I could nip to the craft store, pick up the pink balloons and the ribbon.

11:00am – hop in the car and dart off to the craft store. I wonder through the birthday section, the wedding section both with no joy in finding pink balloons. I look in the baby section but only find pink ones emblazoned with “It’s a Girl!”. Well, I know she is a girl – she has been in my house for 11 years, so those will not do. I asked the assistants for help – it took me ten minutes just to do this – they were deeply involved in their conversation about another assistant who was having boyfriend issues involving an ex, a police cruiser and an amount of bail money. Finally, the assistants looked at me, the mother with the last minute list of to-do things (clearly to them I am a bad planner) and told me indignantly that they do not sell balloons. Technically they do (It’s a girl/boy and Congratulations graduate) but they don’t.

No panic yet, a major toy store is just across the parking lot. Run in there and dash to the party section. Invitations, wrapping paper, party favors, streamers, cake toppers, ribbons but NO BALLOONS.

“So how can I help you today?” I turned around startled at the over-friendliness of the question to find the trainee assistant manager beaming at me – his double chin vibrating with the sheer anticipation of being of assistance to me – the by now, panic stricken, clock watching, clearly disorganised mother of the birthday girl.

“Hi, I am looking for pink balloons…” I gasped with eagerness in my voice and a look of hope on my face.

“I love your accent, which part of England are you from?” he said with an air of authority. I sighed, this was going to take longer than I thought and for some or other reason, I did not opt to humor him and pretend I was an Oxford native – which I normally do to get out A.S.A.P. No this time I corrected the offender.

“Actually, I am from South Africa.  Balloons?”

“Oohhh, I have not been down to those parts in a long time.”

Those parts? Really? 

Instead I asked when trainee manager had been there last.

“I can’t tell you…” Why?

“I was there with, ah, I really should not tell you this…” and then a deep whisper…”special ops…”

OMG, when?

“1985!” he blurted… “this is all classified you know…we were training the military in that area to help combat the drug running ships on the south coast…”

I remained silent by mouth but my mind was screaming…Oh, bollocks! I lived on the South Coast and there was no massive drug running operations taking place. Sure we had some poachers in the seas but in the 80’s South Africa practically only new marijuana, no real hard stuff.  I looked at him knowingly…

“Surely, you mean you were in special ops in South America? I am from South Africa?” waiting with relief at his acknowledgement of his error. But he was insistent…

“No, South Africa…the military was assisting their military…”

Look pal…you are mistaken…but I pressed further…

So what did your ops entail?

“Oh, that is classified, I can’t tell…”

Oh, if you do, will you have to kill me…I eyed his price scanner with scepticism, it could do the job but would make an awful mess here amongst the spiderman and barbie party goodies…

“We helped them capture boats, confiscate drugs and arrest the runners…”

Classified hey? I said to him with a slow nod.

“Yes, very…” he said

Ah-ha…but do you have pink birthday balloons?

“Oh, no, sorry we are out of stock…but I do have, ‘It’s a girl’ ones!”

Mission impossible.  I smiled, thanked him for all the classified information and left the store…I could tell you what I was thinking, but then I would have to kill you.

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~ by ski holidays on May 8, 2008.

4 Responses to “I’m Sorry, that is classified…”

  1. Haha! Excellent post! Now, as Ahmed the Dead Terrorist said – “I kill you!”.

  2. ROFL how brilliant and so typical of what we get huh! ooo Achmed we love Achmed

  3. @ AA yes, we all have a little Achmed in us from time to time.
    @ SanityFound – this guy was ubelievable – if the US defense depended on clowns like this, they would be in serious trouble I tell you…but we all need a little light relief sometimes!

  4. […] a similar situation except in my books this one was way more funny and a classic with her post I’m Sorry that is Classified. If you want a good chuckle then definitely head over […]

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