TIFU by popping balloons

So, I hate birthdays. Always have, always will. I never liked celebrating them and would be happiest if no one remembered when it was.

My girlfriend, a few months into us dating, made it her goal in life to figure out when my birthday was. With some snooping (I hid everything but forgot my wallet which had my driver's license) she found it out. So I begged her to not make it a big deal and that I would appreciate it if she kept it just within us.

The day before my birthday arrives and I have no clue what she's planned. She hadn't talked to me the entire day so I knew she had something planned and it made me nervous. Half an hour before midnight I couldn't take it anymore and head to her apartment.

She opens the door and it's the cutest thing ever. She baked my favorite chocolate cake and cupcakes. But since I had asked for her to not tell anyone or invite anyone over, she had drawn faces on all the balloons and even named them with names of our friends and acquaintances. It made me realize that I wouldn't mind celebrating my birthdays with her, and so to cherish this memory, we decided to let the balloons live in her apartment for as long as they could.

Fast forward to recent times, she's stuck in another country due to the pandemic and the lease for her apartment was ending, so I've been spending the last week or so packing her stuff and moving them into storage. So, after a lot of protesting (surprisingly more from me than her), we made the decision that the balloons have got to die.

We decided that yesterday would be the day that we end the poor balloons' existence. Since I had her on speaker and the phone was a little far away, I was a little loud when I announced that I was going to kill them one by one. That phrase, followed by 10-15 loud pops as I stomped them one by one were heard by my girlfriend's neighbors through the thin walls of the apartment building.

Thankfully, thin walls work both ways, and I could hear a lady's screech followed by the poor woman calling out to her husband. I immediately put two and two together and explained what was happening as reassuringly as I could. I even invited them over to show the dead carcasses of the balloons laying there sprawled across the floor after my mass stomping spree. We had a good laugh and some drinks to calm everyone's nerves and I finally met my girlfriend's neighbors one day before I was going to hand over the apartment.

TL;DR: Made a joke about 'killing' some leftover balloons while popping them and was mistaken for a shooter.

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