Last night we went out for a raucous night of pizza and candlepin bowling with some friends. There was an extremely talented balloon animal artiste named Jungle Jim who was going table to table making balloon animals for the kids. This guy could make anything. Clio requested a ladybug, Elsa wanted a pink and purple unicorn with heart on his horn (?!), and our friends’ daughter Marlie wanted a butterfly. Done, done (?!) and done.
A little while later, a six- or seven-year-old boy from a nearby table came over to our table, brandishing his balloon creation. “I have a dragon!” he said. “What do you have?”
“I have a unicorn with a heart on its horn!” Elsa told him with her trademark enthusiasm. “And my sister has a ladybug and my friend Marlie has a butterfly!”
“Boring!” the boy said — in a very rehearsed sort of way. And retreated to his table.
Elsa told me what had transpired, even though I’d heard the whole thing. And we agreed that it wasn’t very nice of the boy to say that. I told Elsa that she could to go over and tell the boy that if she felt like it. (I guess I was feeling confrontational.)
She did, and reported back: “He said girls like girl stuff, and boys like boy stuff. And dragons are boy stuff.”
