One hundred and twenty

12o? What's that, you ask innocently? That is the number of F-ing balloons I blew up last night while watching tv. An hour and a half of the heaviest breathing I have seen in a long time, pathetically enough. For what? For 32 whiny, sniveling little brats at day camp to play totally awesome and cool relays and games with, which I researched for two hours on the internet. Who paid for said balloons. That would be me. And Again, who blew up all those balloons by herself? Me again. And how were all my efforts received? Did the kids appreciate the gesture and fun games by listening attentively while I was explaining each totally cool relay and game? No. Did they enthusiastically play and enjoy the game with the attitude and spirit with which they were conceived (the games not the kids)? No. Did they continue to be the ungrateful, whiny, potty mouthed, complaining, life draining, pain in the ass kids that they have proven to be time and time again, all summer long? All signs point to yes. And why do I go out of my way planning way cool games that involve popping 120 balloons in the course of an hour when I could have done the same old boring games that all the other camp leaders do? Because I am a sucker. S-U-C-K-E-R. You might as well paint Hoover on my forehead and pay me for the advertising. I suck. Kids suck. I hate them. I am definitely reducing the number I am going to have to only 27. That'll teach 'em.