If I were to play a word association game this time of year, it’d go something like this.
July 4th - Fireworks.
Fireworks - Explosives.
Explosives - Dangerous.
Dangerous - My husband.
And so it goes, every year as we approach America’s birthday party. But not anymore. It took me 22 years, but I’m finally putting my foot down. Somebody has to take a stand. So for the sake of my husband, children, the sanctity of life and my sanity, please allow me to once and for all explain in writing to avoid any further discussion and argument on the topic. We will not buy fireworks anymore…
Because we shouldn’t have to drive to a neighboring state to get something that’s “totally legal.”
Because anything with a long wick on the end of an explosive should not be packaged in brightly colored boxes and sold at Walmart.
Because apparently, the line between a relatively harmless sparkler from the Dollar Store and half a stick of dynamite obtained from a buddy at work is a blurry one.
Because I’m married to a man who’s friends with a guy who has half sticks of dynamite at work.
Because the roof of a shed will either ignite or deflect the lit firework back to you. It's a lose/lose.
Because Murphy’s Law dictates that if one firework misfires, it will land directly back into the box of unused fireworks. And then it will fire.
Because contrary to popular opinion, a cooler in the garage is not a safe place to store them for the winter.
Because despite what the directions on the package say to ensure safe usage, there’s always a way to make them “bigger and better.”
Because morbid curiosity will draw a crowd when they see someone duct taping bottle rockets together. To a half stick of dynamite. In the middle of the street. (Hey Chucko. Those people are called witnesses.)
Because explosives travel fast when tipped on their side.
Because more than likely, the neighbor’s patio furniture is flammable.
Because our children should not refer to a basement as the bunker.
Because no one wants to be listed as your accomplice on another police report.
Because “duds” should never be discarded into a bonfire pit. Odds are, they aren’t duds.
Because to this day, our 16 year old won’t roast a hot dog over an open fire.
Because you're not being the responsible fire preventer Smokey The Bear knows you can be.
Because if the 12-shooter tips over on the first shot, you’re stuck in a sick game of Russian roulette as the remaining 11 shots fire off in different directions.
Because we got lucky that my cousin had military training.
Because there might not always be a swimming pool for everyone to take cover in.
Because no one should be expected to hold their breath that long under water.
Because regardless of what you think of my side of the family, I’d rather you not kill them all off at one barbecue…well, maybe just a few of them wouldn’t be that big of a problem.