A few days ago the husband and I decided that the best way to celebrate Labor Day weekend was to do the opposite of labor… act like children. We hopped on the metro and ended up at the National Building Museum in DC. With a ballpit installation ending in a few days time, it was the perfect way to relax in a musty smelling pool of plastic balls most likely swarming with traces of Ebola.
I had balls on my face.
Balls in my hair.
I remained smiling even though there were balls everywhere.
I danced in the balls.
Got trapped in a heap.
I drowned in a sea that was literally balls deep.
Never grow up.
Would YOU rendezvous in a ball pit with 400 other sweaty bodies? What do you think the odds are that I’ve contracted MRSA? Maybe we should have stuck with a cookout.