Hillbilly Holiday

OK, maybe "hillbilly" is a bit classist, but really- if you resent the stereotype then don't perpetuate it.

We went to Betsy & BiCo's to watch, what we were assured was, a neighborhood tradition of professional-grade fireworks. While it was still light, we enjoyed lots of delicious food and were forced to play soccer with Little D. As night fell, things became a bit dangerous.

I must admit, I had a lovely time watching the annual July 4th display. It was very impressive and injuries and property damage notwithstanding, I quite enjoyed myself. Had to keep our wits about you, as at any moment an unsupervised 9-year old might send a rocket headed straight for your knees, but if you maintained enough sobriety one could leap hop and skip out of danger.

Actually, that's how you could distinguish the the natives from the transplants: transplants squeal and run for cover when a fast-moving fireball heads towards them; natives stay seated and simply lift their feet off the ground while shielding their eyes with a beer bottle.

When a rogue missile ignited the patio unbrella of a neighbor who thought it best to leave town for the festivities (but inexplicably left his SUV parked on the street to be covered with debris and scorch marks), the firework criminals created a drunken bucket brigade using a 2-quart pail w/a hole in it. My finger was poised, ready to dial 911.

Miraculously, the fire was extinguished by the teaspoon-full and damage to the absent neighbor's property simply brushed off as July 4th collateral.