I love my Chinese Balls. Jingle, Jingle

I have always wanted a pair of those shiny Chinese balls, the kind that make the wee jingle noise when you play with them. To me they are a symbol of power, the kind of table toy used by Bond villains while tempting the fate of the worlds's greatest secret agent. "Goodbye Mr. Bond jingle jingle, you are to late, hahahahaaa."

The wifey and I were dodging around some local garage sales last weekend and I came across a sweet pair of used Chinese balls, they were even presented in a satin filled box with a wee lock, so when you are finished playing with your balls you can put them away safely in the box.

Later that day after I had bartered and negotioted for the balls, I sat in my Lazy-boy with balls in hand jingle, jingle, jingle. I watched as the family darted around me as if I was plagued with some weird disease, but I sat silently and passed judgement on all of them with my internal Bond villain voice.
Wife - You will make me a sandwich and fetch me a beer, jingle jingle.

Sons - You will clean out the garage and wash my car, jingle jingle.

Dog - You will obey my every command, bring me my flip flops, jingle, jingle (It's too hot here for slippers.)

Something happened to my balls, I can't find them. I am thinking sabotage in the sausage house.
I miss my shiny balls......
Jingle jingle.