The 4th of July, Fireworks and Fearing for My Life

The Fourth of July, Fireworks & Fearing

This is my 4th of July post from last year. And the year before. And it will be my 4th of July post forever because every 4th of July is exactly the same. Every 4th of July I fear for my life.

The holiday week kicked off nicely enough with a little father-son bonding time. My husband had decided to take Crazy on an overnight camping trip, which was a special treat. But as I stood in the driveway waving goodbye to them, I started to worry. I hoped my husband wasn’t using “camping” as a euphemism like when parents claim they’re taking your beloved pet to the “farm.”

Thankfully “camping” wasn’t code for “I’m taking him far, far away and tying him to a fencepost, and if anyone happens by who’s in the market for a young, friendly, good-natured male, they can have him.”

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Tweetpeat Tuesday: Week in Review

fireworks
That looks like a safe distance. Photo credit

The holiday week kicked off with a little father-son bonding time, but almost as soon as the two left I started to worry.

Thankfully “camping” wasn’t a euphemism for “I’m taking him far, far away and tying him to a fence alongside a remote, country road and if anyone happens to pass by who has always wanted a young, friendly, good-natured male, they can have him. If not, I’m sure he’ll make a good farm-hand.”

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