Usually, I like my balls small. Easy to handle. Not too unwieldy. Tasty.
But this time, I took a chance on some large ones. Threw my normal predilections and preferences out the window. These were much meatier, but of an unknown quality. I was truly gambling on these balls. But, at the moment, there were no others. It was them or nothing, and I had to fill a desperate need. So, big balls it was.
When I got them home, I decided that I would resist their allure and save them for another night when I really needed them. Maybe in a few days, when the time was right. When there was no other choice and the desire was at its peak. Only then would I sample these mystery balls.
But unbeknownst to me, there was a devious plot afoot in my home. A plan to steal my balls. To sample the succulent and round mass of meat before I could even get the chance to use it for my own purposes. A feat which I discovered upon my return home the next night, when I saw evidence of the sampling of my large meaty friend, blatantly displayed with nary a care for discovery. The partial remains of the poor ball just sitting there on the counter. Evidence of the crime plain to see. Basically, my ball just thrown right in my face.
There was only one person who could have committed this dastardly deed. Only one person who was in the house that entire day, so it was obvious where the guilt lie . . . my au pair.
Bewildered and shocked, I chose not to address the transgression at the time, and instead went upstairs to lay down and recover. I soothed my battered soul by reminding myself that I still had some balls left. They weren’t all gone. Just the one. It would be ok.
But then . . . disaster struck again! Or should I say, my husband did. You remember him, the sunglass murderer. Well, I should have known that once he got a taste of the life of crime, that he wouldn’t stop. That he would crave a return to the dark side.
When I went to bed that night, I had 5 balls, but by the next morning, only 4 remained. When I arrived on the scene that morning, I saw evidence of the carnage. Red liquid dripping down the container in the sink showed clear evidence of his heinous crime. It was obvious that he was the culprit, since he had arrived late at home from a business trip while all others in the house were asleep. Apparently, the allure of my balls, which he had never sampled before, was just too enticing for him to resist. And with nobody to monitor his actions, including his conscience apparently, he struck a deadly blow to my balls.
It was time to put an end to this crime spree. This senseless devouring of balls. So, in no uncertain terms, I told both the au pair and my husband that my balls were off limits. “Hands off of my balls, you thieving delinquents” I exclaimed.
I can only hope that my remaining balls have survived through this day without those criminals’ greedy hands and mouths devouring them before I can get home from work and finally use them for my own purposes. But, if nothing else, I have learned a valuable lesson here. Big balls are just too damn irresistible for my family to handle. From now on, only small balls are safe to enter my home. I won’t make the same mistake again. My balls depend on it.