Disney,  Frozen,  Mommy story,  Olaf

The Ghost of Olaf

 

You searched for me for hours, through crowds of young and old. 

You paid too much and cursed my name as I bobbed and weaved through entryways and got stuck in elevator doors. So you can’t fit me in your car, you say at the end of the day. So you can’t bear to pop me and crush your little one’s dreams of a larger than life snowman in the palm of their hand. So instead of dealing with me like an adult, you tie me to an empty stroller, turn your back, and leave me to deflate in the darkness.
 
You may think you have lost me, but I will find you. Because there are hundreds of me, maybe even thousands. Probably millions. Scattered across the Southern California coastline, blocking your vision in your rear view mirror. Or floating aimlessly across your living room floor for a millennia. Or suddenly appearing in a restaurant, reminding your child of what they have lost. Which was all your fault, by the way.

 

So next time, think of me before you open your wallet for another ridiculously large balloon.

 

Because they may find you, too. 

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