How do you deflate all of the excitement out of a perfectly happy Easter morning? You pop the little balloon-like farting contraption the Easter bunny left in your basket.
Just ask my 6-year-old son. It was tragic.
He has wanted a whoopee cushion for months now. Somehow the Easter bunny knew this deepest desire and threw one into his basket.
Within five minutes the thing was busted. Apparently you aren’t supposed to fill whoopee cushions up to bulging size then jump onto the bed before slamming down on top of them. Who knew?
I knew instantly by the popping sound that the cushion was toast.
My poor oldest son went from pure joy to pure sorrow in a matter of seconds. He hasn’t cried that hard in a long time. He felt terrible because not only was his new favorite toy destroyed but he was the one who did it. Poor kid.
I have never wanted to jump into my car and drive to Wal-Mart more than I did at that moment. I wanted to get him another cushion. I wanted to take his sadness away.
Thankfully my husband stopped me. He reminded me that my 6-year-old is going to have sorrows and disappointment in life. And although this time I could have easily ran to the store to pick up another toy, next time a trip to the dollar store and $1.07 cents may not patch his problem.
I’m not always going to be able to take his pain away.
I hate that.
So, needless to say, I didn’t run to Wal-Mart on Easter morning. Chances are they wouldn’t have had a cushion anyway. I waited until the next afternoon and we went after school.
But have you ever tried to buy a whoopee cushion on April Fool’s Day? Ha! Good luck. I toted my boys through three different stores before we finally found the silly little fart bags.
I ended up buying two – just in case.
Boogers on the Wall 