“A fearsome bouncy castle. Very intimidating.”
Leo takes a step forward. The suit wobbles. The tiny arms flap.
I lose it.
The laugh erupts out of me before I can stop it, bending me over my crutches, making my stomach hurt. Leo’s face, framed by dinosaur teeth, shifts from annoyed to something that might almost be amused.
“Get it out of your system now,” he says. “Before the children arrive.”
“I’m sorry.” I’m not sorry at all. “I’m so sorry. It’s just…” I gesture vaguely at the entirety of him. “You were in a three-piece suit twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m aware of the contrast.”
“You had shiny shoes, Leo. Shiny shoes.”
“Do you want me to put them back on? I’ll be a dinosaur in brogues. Very fashion forward.”
This sets me off again. Leo watches me laugh, and something in his expression softens.
“You’re a menace,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.
“I prefer ‘creative professional.’ Now come on. We’ve got a party to set up, and you need to practice your roar.”
For the next half hour, we transform the party room into a prehistoric wonderland, which mostly involves me pointing at things and Leo doing the actual physical labor. I arrange the party bags while Leo wrestles with a banner that readsHAVE A DINO-MITE BIRTHDAY THOMAS!
The birthday boy’s mother, Patricia, arrives twenty minutes before the party to do a final check.
“Oh, wonderful,” she says, surveying the room. “Thomas is going to love this. He’s absolutely obsessed with dinosaurs.”
“We’ll make sure he has a roar-some time,” I say because I am contractually obligated to make that pun at least once per dinosaur party.
Patricia’s eyes slide to Leo, who is standing in the corner trying to look dignified despite being encased in green inflatable plastic.
“And this is…?”
“My assistant. Snugglesaurus.”
Leo’s head swivels toward me. He mouths “Snugglesaurus?” through the mesh window, but I ignore him.
“He’s new,” I add. “Still in training. But very enthusiastic.”
Patricia eyes Leo doubtfully but doesn’t press further. She runs through the schedule and dietary requirements with me.
“And Thomas’s father might be late,” she adds, something flickering across her face. “Or he might not come at all. It’s…complicated.”
“Understood. We’ll make sure Thomas has such a good time he won’t notice.”
She gives me a grateful smile. It’s the kind of smile that reminds me why I do this job.
The children arrive in waves. First a trickle, then a flood. Twenty-two five- and six-year-olds in their party best, vibrating with sugar anticipation and barely contained chaos.
Thomas, the birthday boy, takes one look at Leo and screams with joy.
“Dinosaur!”
He launches himself at Leo’s inflatable midsection and bounces off like he’s hit a trampoline. This delights him so much that he does it again. And again. Soon, there’s a line of children waiting to bounce off the dinosaur man.
Leo stands there and takes it, a stoic green boulder in a sea of shrieking children.
