We Are A Hedge. Move Along.
So, for my sixth birthday, my parents hired for me a party ninja.
You know, like a party clown, only instead of bright red outfit and a big nose, they wore all black (in the manner of the Japanese puppet theatre's convention of portraying the ninja in the same hard-to-see outfit as the puppeteers, highlighting the invisibility of the ninja).
And, you know, they did ninja balloon tricks, and let us all ride a ninja pony, and then threw down smoke bombs, and when the smoke cleared, they were gone.
The only problem is that now, twenty-two years later and some odd months, they've come to collect.