Everybody knows (unless your pulse rate has suddenly gone silent) that most of our paychecks these days go to feed our hungry vehicles with ever more costly liquid food. I suspected with so much moola being spent on gasoline, it'd be a pretty quiet Fourth. Hey, who can buy fireworks, right?
Well, wouldn't you know? Our out-of-work neighbors. Okay, maybe you like fireworks, and I agree they're beautiful to watch as a display at fairs. But when the Fourth came and went and it was silent next door, I was sure fireworks was a luxury no one in our neck of the woods could afford. Then comes Friday night. And Friday night ends the Fourth, right? Isn't the logical thought to welcome in the anniversary?
After the Fourth has ended, we hear these "squeeeeels" from across the fence. Yep, those pop-pop-pops ain't popcorn gone crazy. It's fireworks and bottle rockets.
After I'd gone to bed. After my dog has gone to bed. After we'd gone to sleep.
The "celebration" has started.
I thought for sure Friday night would be safe. I lay there, blinking my sleep-heavy lids and wonder if the folks next door got their timing all messed up. Well, they have my sleep all messed up, that's for sure.
The dog gets up, goes to the back door, watches all that weird light sparkling and crackling and hissing, tucks her tail between her legs and heads back to bed. Together, she and I lay there, waiting for the merriment of the Fifth of July party to wane.
Hmm. Maybe they're wanting to start their own tradition.
Miss Mae,
"See No Evil, My Pretty Lady" available now. "Said the Spider to the Fly" to be released later this year.
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