for a pyromaniac.
Fireworks. I've managed to stumble through 33 Fourth of July celebrations only to learn this: Fireworks are not legal everywhere.
It's weird to me. I grew up surrounded by Firework tents that sprang up everywhere during the weeks before July fourth. Don't know what a firework tent is? Imagine a circus tent with fireworks inside. Fireworks as far as the eye can see. Dragon Farts, Black Cat firecrackers, Roman candles, artillery shells, snappers, fountains, you name it.
Neighborhood kids-and sometimes their parents- descend on the streets and empty lots to shoot off all types of rockets and firecrackers. Never once did I think doing this was illegal somewhere. I guess my small town naivete is showing. Even more? No one cares. No one complains to the cop (yes, I said cop. My town has only ONE)(Yes, I live in a town that small) about those darn kids shooting of fireworks. It's just expected that the local pyromaniacs, young and old will do this every year. A rite of passage if you will.
So it was nothing when Manly Man called me up on Sunday afternoon and asked if I could go pick up this years firework show for the farm. I felt honored. This is something that usually he and his dad do together. You know, father-son bonding. But since Manly Man is working in Michigan and won't be home until the 3rd, I, his loving and loyal wife, agreed to pick them up.
We have a store here that sells nothing but fireworks year round. This is sort of like a local Mecca for the pyromaniacs. All sorts of wonders can be found down every aisle. This year, my task involved man handling a pallet of 100 artillery shells and various other delights, like The Godfather and Desert Shower and Supa Man Delight. I don't really know what the latter will do, but I can tell you that artillery shells are the big ones that go way up in the sky, go boom and make the big pretties in the dark sky. I know you love it when I get technical on my blog.
But anyway. So I have all this crap in the trunk of my car. Major explosives in my car. And there's probably a joke in there somewhere, but I'm too tired right now to think of one.
Where was I? I have a point.
Oh! Yes, fireworks not being legal everywhere.
So I was chatting on facebook, as one is want to do while drinking a beer and watching Letterman, and she was telling me about her plans to go to a park to watch the fireworks. I asked her why she didn't have her husband and kids go buy some and have their own fireworks show in their backyard. And she laughed at me.
Yeah. She actually LOL'd out loud at me. And then she pointed out that the only legal fireworks they could shoot off were those damn sparklers and those irritating firecrackers and those snapper thingies you throw on the ground and they, surprise, surprise, snap.
And I'm sorry, but I just cannot comprehend this. I, who am surrounded by firework tents and the fireworks version of Wal Mart and neighborhood kids getting together to share a lit punk and mutal fireworks. I just can't.
So I did what any self respecting woman of 33 would do. I went outside with Lil' Bit and we shot off fireworks. We were soon surrounded by a mass of kids and soon I was passing around the lit punk so spinning Camillias could be lit, or the Battle of the Bulge could be re-enacted with firework tanks that actually moved and shot little balls of fire out of the guns or so the oldest kid could take a big fountain into the empty lot and shoot off 25 rounds of a firework called Color Pearl.
We are having so much fun.
It's like Christmas day. But with gunpowder.
Pyromaniacs Unite!
