Your explosions don’t impress me
I am from a part of the world where you know it is summer because some dumbass blows off his hand or worse.

I like to think of it as social Darwinism, but I realize that makes me a bad person so I’ll say I am sorry your parents didn’t teach you better, exploding people.

Anyway, this brings me to my ambivalence around Independence Day fireworks. When I was a kid my dad would shoot bottle rockets off in the backyard. Even at the tender age of four or five I thought a) it’s hot, b) there are a lot of bugs, c) what if Dad explodes? And d) this is loud and hot and boring.

I don’t care much for crowds either, so to me – going outside in the heat where I must mingle with other hot, sticky, smelly masses to watch stuff explode while mosquitoes feast on the blood of the innocent doesn’t really do much for me.

I know – I am a bad American. I prefer to wallow in my hot, sweaty stink alone. Or possibly with my husband and an icy drink.