The Clown that Never Ends

This story is about a party the Husband clowned at a couple of months ago.
The Husband does his show and gets an extremely enthusiastic response (They were happy drunks at this party, as opposed to the mean child-thieving ones, but that's another story). It's time for balloons and the line (excuse me, did I say line? I meant mob surrounding my husband) was huge!!!! To help move things along, the Husband passed out some key rings of pictures of the kids' choices for balloons. Needless to say the kids don't give him enough space, but he works with it, trying to make everyone happy.
On this occasion we had debuted a new way of charging the host, by the hour as opposed to a flat fee. So the host comes up to the Husband amidst the mob of children and asks him to stop (he'd budgeted only for $100). So the Husband starts to pack up.
The children don't leave. They continue to swarm him. I manage to pack up most of the Husband's things while he's fighting his way out of the crowd when he discovers one of the kids have pocketed one of his sets of pictures. I fight my way to the DJ, toddler in tow. "Could you please ask if anyone still has the clown's balloon pictures?" I beg. The DJ starts walking around the party asking people. I just can't bring myself to tell him I wanted him to make an announcement with his microphone not by quietly looking around.
Finally, the host gets the DJ to make an announcement and the pictures are recovered. As the Husband begins to pack his supplies in the car, the same children from the party materialize next to him! "Will you make me a balloon please?" They won't give up!!!! (The interesting part is that all of them have already received balloons and they've already given them to their mothers to hold on to)
I turn to the Husband. "It's late! It's a school night! I want to go home!!" he looks at my stricken expression, sighs, and pulls out his balloons again. Luckily it's dark out because I feel so angry there's no way I'm not purple. "We're paying for those balloons! Not the host!", I hiss. Finally, the Husband manages to shoo the children away, get paid, and pass out some business cards. We get in the car and drive off. All I can think is, "Thank God those kids can't drive yet. They'd follow us home."