Yes, Mojo has survived the bacchanal that was her SIX Year Old Friend's birthday party. Things have changed substantially since Mojo was a wee lass. Mojo does not recall ever being the subject of an actual party for starters; perhaps because she was always greedy enough to demand lemon-flavored cake, something that no one else in the family could stand. And she always had lemon cake because she was thereby assured she would be eating the majority of the cake all by herself. And to Mojo, eating cake was more important than maintaining friendships.
Sad, really. But as usual, Mojo digresses from the real issue, which is her Six Year Old Friend's party, not her own petty childhood traumas. And she won't mention how she participated in said festivities despite her many and sundry physical difficulties lately. Yes, poor Mojo has been suffering for the past week or ten days from a rather nasty digestive disorder, coupled with the fact that, the first day she felt a bit better--this would be the Fourth of July--she decided to celebrate by moving rocks, which resulted in her throwing out her back. Not as bad as last time, but it hasn't been as pleasant as throwing out one's back tends to be.
Despite these infirmaries--or perhaps BECAUSE of them, for she could not fight back as efficiently as she usually can, lionhearted girl she is--Mojo was volunteered to "defend the castle" as she was told, which, when she arrived, she realized consisted of standing there as a living breathing target for the water balloons of a dozen small children. And when those children proved to be not the best aimers on the planet, certain Nameless Adults thought it in the children's best interests to intervene and paste Mojo with the dropped balloons.
I won't describe the ugly melee that ensued as the adults started pushing the children away from the balloons and trampling their own young just so they could seek out their own petty revenge on their moral and social superior. Meaning our beloved Mojo. All I can say is this: Mojo has an absolute horror of both cold water and getting splashed, and she could not throw properly due to her back injury, and it simply Wasn't Fair. And yet, saint-like in her rectitude, she endured the onslaught, although she suspects (judging from their statues and medallions and whatnot; Mojo is not Catholic and she thinks saints are a primarily Catholic phenomenon, so she is unschooled in the specifics of this particular religious thingamabob except for feeling that she is indeed somehow to be counted among them) most saints don't shriek nearly as much as she occasionally does when circumstances warrant. At least one does not often hear of Saint Jerome the Shrieker, who whined incessantly when being burned at the stake, or Saint Gertrude of the Thrown Out Back, pummeled to death via water balloons. Indeed, God Works in Mysterious Ways.
Yes, Mojo survived her ordeal when many a saint might have given up the ghost and done gone to Jeebus, and what does she get for her troubles? Eternal life? People praying to her shrines? No, but she did get a hot dog and some cake. Not lemon cake, so she had to share it with others, but there was ice cream, too. And she made sure, when the Water Balloon Torture was over and done with, to go sit on every piece of upholstered furniture the host family possessed. For that is the sort of petty snarling vindictive person Mojo can be.
So note, all ye who still have the stomach to invite Mojo to a party after this. Either don't throw water balloons, or cover your furniture with plastic. Otherwise Mojo will seek her revenge via big giant wet butt. And believe me: it's not pretty.