Today is the 4th of July.
Quite honestly, my least favorite holiday aside from Easter.
Sometimes I have these sick fantasies where the kids' dads are still in the picture, and we share custody of them solely so that I don't have to deal with holidays I hate.
Easter? They're all yours.
4th of July? No thank you.
Halloween and Thanksgiving we can rotate, but Christmas is mine.
Sorry. Overies before Brovaries. Or something like that.
I don't like this holiday. It's hot, it's crowded. Every jackass this side of the Florida/Georgia line seems to come to wherever I am planning to watch fireworks, and step on my picnic blanket and kick grass in my potato salad and cut me off when we're trying to leave like THEY DIDN'T SEE ME AT ALL.
But I recognize that the kids like it.
They like hot dogs and things that explode into a million sparkly lights.
And for whatever reason crowds and the possibility of cotton candy make them euphoric.
So, despite my dark fantasies of being childless on these pointless holidays, I am going to take them swimming and make them hamburgers, and brave the assholes with their sweaty, rude, way-too-old-to-be-acting-like-that-in-public kids, and go see fireworks.
I know, I'm a true hero.
I hope if you like this holiday, that it's full of barbecuing and family and whatever else it is that makes you so happy that you're willing to pretend its not 150 degrees out.
If you don't like it, I hope your margarita glass stays full and fireworks become visible from your own rooftop.