I love fireworks.
I grew up in a small town where the one celebration the entire town pulled together for was the 4th of July. Three days packed full of events, parades, 3-legged races and pie-eating contests, art shows and demolition derbies, and a spectacular fireworks show on the 4th to cap it all off.
Let me repeat, I love fireworks.
Yet, here I sit, at nearly 11 PM on the 4th of July and my neighborhood is peppered with the snap, crackle and pop of celebratory mayhem. And. I. Don't. Like. It. It's really hard to admit, but I'm cringing with each loud noise. I feel like Old Mother Fuddy Duddy and I am not sure I really care if that's my new title.
With every boom, sizzle, and explosion I worry that my house is going to burn down, or that my kids will wake up confused and crying.
It's the weirdest feeling to be on the other side of this and I'd like to formally apologize to all those other families to whom I created this kind of stress.
Oops. Sowwy.
edit: and all those poor animals too. :(
No comments:
Post a Comment