The Resiliency of Balloons

While finding my way to Sara's on Saturday afternoon, I was driving south on 16. Four lanes, pretty busy traffic-wise. I was in the left lane, I knew I needed to turn left off of it eventually. The posted speed limit was 45 but I was sailing along at 50 to maintain my position. I heard a honk. And then a second honk. I realized the honks were directed at me when I glanced in the rear view mirror to see a quite angry appearing fellow behind the wheel of a red Nissan sedan. The back of his car was filled with colorful, swaying balloons. Not quite sure what he expected me to do, the traffic was pretty thick and I wasn't sure how far off my impending left turn was. I was already speeding and intent on staying put in the left lane. A couple of minutes later he had managed to move over into the right lane. He leaned on the horn as he passed, shaking his fist at me as he shouted epithets I couldn't hear through the closed windows. I flashed my standard, slightly exaggerated beauty-queen-on-a-float smile and blew him a kiss. He continued to weave through traffic, advancing away with all of those bright balloons bobbing and weaving in the back window. Balloons are such happy things. I marveled at how they stayed afloat with so much anger sealed up inside the small interior space of the car along with them. I wondered if he was late delivering them to some celebration and thus was vexed with the traffic in general, South Dakota license plated me in particular. How can anyone be so aggravated when accompanied by such happiness.