I just don’t understand the point of fireworks.
Call me a cynic, but I’ve really just never enjoyed them. Okay, I’m sure there’s a time when, as a little tyke, I oohed and ahhed with the best of them. But not since I can remember, at least.
Sparklers and those snaps things. Except (yup, this is an excepted exception) when Boyfriend’s little brothers throw them at you and/or when you hold onto the sparkler too long and you burn your fingers. Neither are what I would classify as “fun”.
No, I’m talking about those big-boom-in-the-sky guys.
It might possibly stem from the fact that I’m the whiniest person in the world when forced to go outdoors in weather above 85 degrees (okay, 80) when there’s not a pool around (or even if there is one around but I’m not in it).* Or the fact that I’m absolutely terrified of anything resembling a gunshot. Or that I like to play “of course the worst is going to happen” and picture a scene that, if taped on a lucky survivor’s iPhone, would go viral in minutes: a fireworks snafu, a windy night, we all catch on fire, burning pain (literally – ha), dead.
Whatever the reason, I’d rather avoid them.
So imagine my delight when I learned that there’s some random competing local/state Indiana laws that cancel each other out concerning the topic of that Independence Day’s nighttime celebratory practice. It’s somewhat confusing to explain in paragraph form, so here’s the breakdown. (If I could do this in PowerPoint form, you bet your britches I would.) Please keep in mind this has not been adequately researched other than to hear it on the Smiley Morning Show.
1. A county declares a burn ban.
2. The state says that even though a county declared said burn ban, the county can’t ban fireworks.
3. If the county declares the situation to be a state of emergency, they can override the state’s allowance of fireworks and really ban them this time.
Note to Indiana law officials: I really feel like you could have made it easier than all that. You must have had some time on your hands, eh?
That being said:
Drought, I could kiss you. (No offense, farmers.)
Now, not only do I get to avoid the “pretty” burning balls of fire in the night sky, I can also circumvent the horrendous premise of having to endure a disgustingly muggy evening sitting on the insect-filled grass while mosquitoes and chiggers feast on my skin as I lose some of my hearing and develop a crick in my neck.
Happy birthday, ‘Murica.
*Not exaggerating. Boyfriend banned me from the Indy 500 this year because of my incessant complaining about the heat at the 2010 race. Let’s be honest – it was for the best. For all parties involved.