MONSIEUR GASTON'S SOUVENIRS

"THE LADY'S BALLOONS"

The baby sitter had been highly recommended to us.

She was about fifty years old, of a jovial mood, but she was enormous. Not fat, but huge.

She was the widow of a farmer who died a few months before. She had sold all the animals, but was still the owner of the family farm. Her children had left home and she was living all by herself in her house.

Babysitting was for her an important source of extra income.

And I believe meals supplied was in her case a good deal.

I remember that Françoise had prepared food for at least four days (we were gone only two).

A large spaghetti sauce, a five to six pounds roast, and soup for an army.

When we came back, there was nothing left. The children told us that

«they had never seen anybody eat so much.»

But she was reliable. The house was in perfect shape and the children would not stop telling us how nice she was.

Françoise and I had gone on a hunting trip in the north of Montréal for a couple of days.

It was not often that we could be alone together for a weekend, because with four children (born in the first five years of our marriage), it was not easy for us to leave.

The weekend had been marvelous, even if we were coming back empty handed. The walks on the forest roads, picnicking around a tree stomp and the fact that we could be alone for two days, was worth the price asked by the babysitter.

When we returned home, the kids jumped to embrace us and I took the babysitter home.

We put the children to bed, and next morning, I see them playing with balloons. They were filling them with water and throwing them up in the air to see them explode when they landed on the sidewalk.

I don't pay much attention to their game, until I ask to see one of the balloons...

Damn it, they were playing with condoms...

They were not yet called condoms.

In English, these preservatives were called

"French safes.»

In French, they were

"English capotes."

«Where did they get these balloons? I ask

-In a letter box, they answer

-A letter box?

-Where? Come and show me where.»

And I start with the kids to see the famous letter box.

The letter box in question was one of those green monsters with about fifty individual separate boxes, that the postal service were then using in new developments, where the owners had to go to pick up their mail.

«What box did you get the balloons from?

-That one. they said showing it to me.»

The box was not locked and the door was open. It was empty.

The children explain that the door was opened and that they had taken the contents.

Elaine was five years old and Diane six. They were with friends of their age. When they had arrive at the house, they had opened the package from the box and found the balloons as they were calling them.

They had shared the contents evenly between themselves.

It was a package of a hundred and forty four. A gross...

In these days,

a lady would not dare buy preservatives in a drug store

and even men would hesitate, before asking the pharmacist.

The owner of the letter box had preferred the anonymity of a mail order and while ordering some had decided she might as well order enough so as not to run out of them.

All week end, the girls played with their trophies, and I am still wondering what the neighbors thought seeing that.

When I got home, I wrote a note to the lady since the package was addressed to Mrs.

«Madam, if you want to keep your balloons, lock your letter box.»

Message that I left in her mailbox.

A few days later, the doorbell rings and I answer.

It is two policemen in civilian clothes and they tell me that they are from the Canadian Postal Service.

The lady made a complain and their inquiry lead them to us.

I confirm that, yes it is our children with some others that did it. I explain what happened, the opened box, the children's age, etc...

They wanted to question them, but I refused.

They tell me that it is a criminal act and that they could sue.

«Perfect, I answer, while you are at it, why don't you put them in prison?» And I asked them to leave.

We never heard from them afterwards.

A few days later, passing in front of the letter box, we could see that it was now locked with a padlock . . .

 

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