Just before Christmas, we accompanied the Morad family to Knott's Berry Farm to see Santa. Conveniently, adjacent to the Santa line, were these "hover at eye level" balloons.
Both Charlie and Giulietta had to have one.
So the balloon comes home and is promptly abused by Charlie. Sand dumped on his head, arms ripped off, kicked in the dinosaur balls. The whole 9 yards.
We were sure it wouldn't last a day through Charlie's abuse. We were wrong. It lasted over a week, stalking us throughout the house.
At 3 am when I flipped the light on in the bathroom, there it was, hovering above the toilet. In the morning, as Rich and I are watching the morning news, it creeps around the Christmas tree. At one point, it surprised Rich in the kitchen, prompting him to squeal and yell "holy shit this dinosaur has to die".
And it did. One week after he came to our home, when Charlie was playing at the babysitters, the dinosaur met his maker. I'm not going to lie and say we didn't enjoy taking that steak knife to this sucker.