We were walking down the Champs-Élysées a few weeks ago when we happened upon these little blighters. Sue and Shelley expressed interest, Aaron and I exchanged knowing glances and moved on. The wound had not yet healed.
It was 2004, and my brothers and I were on our first trip to Europe, courtesy of a reason (Helen and Nathan were getting married in Florence). We were walking the streets of Florence in a merry troop of Australians and Americans, when these bouncy characters caught our attention from the sidewalk. There they were, jigging happily to the beat of the boom box, and we were transfixed. The man standing next to them looked so suspect that he might not even have
control over when he disappeared in a puff of smoke. And yet still, we, adults with OK brains, were transfixed.
We could not work out how it was being done (the jigging that is - obviously there was invisible string), but we decided that it
was actually being done, and that was good enough for us. One Euro here, two euros there, Oh, I'll buy a few, more euros.
No, we were
not drunk. But waking up the next morning to find these smiling pieces of cardboard that would
just not dance, no matter what music you played, was akin to a very horrible hangover. Regret, embarrassment, and never again.
It kind of reminded me of my first Peugeot.
Yes, it was a cool Azure on the body, a dazzling orange on the two front guards, and all topped-off with a blazing white bonnet to really drive it home. No-one ever said, I think I saw you driving on such-and-such a road the other day. They knew.
