THIS FAT OLD LADY’S ME MONDAY – FIREWORKS, FEH

I like fireworks okay.  But the age of ooh and ahs are long behind me. 

Probably the most I’ve enjoyed fireworks was the years in Claremont where some of us helped the professionals set up for their show.  If you wanted, you could also shoot off some of the big ones during the show – under supervision (of sorts) – but since I prefer my face with eyebrows, I always turned down the opportunity.

One of the big culture shocks of moving to California was the ordinary citizen setting off their own fireworks.  One year, some of us went to Santa Monica, walking on the beach.  It was truly terrifying.  What I imagine a war zone is like – during battle.  Smoke everywhere, and explosives of all types and sizes whizzing by and exploding alarmingly nearby. 

No thank you.

I don’t understand the charm of risking life and limb (literally) to make something go boom.

Northern Californians are just as enamored of their personal arsenals of fireworks and general explosives.  Any holiday that might possibly call for something going bang is an excuse for our neighbors to drag out their supply and start blowing stuff up. 

I hate it.

People’s pets hate it.  People who are responsible for anyone who should be sleeping (babies, elderly, or ill folks) hate it.  People with PTSD hate it. 

The possession, much less use, of fireworks in most of our county is illegal.  After all, we live in the land of drought and wild fires.  Sending up firey projectiles with unknown destinations seems like a really bad idea.

This year, our local constabulary promised to come down extra hard on these miscreants.

Apparently, they didn’t include my neighborhood in the crack down. 

It was horrible. 

I usually try to avoid interactions with my neighbors.  I usually avoid conflict of any nature.

I am not usually passive aggressive, but last night I made an exception.

I hollered out our front door (and many of you know just how loud this fat old lady can holler), into the noisy darkness, “YOU ARE ALL FUCKING ASSHOLES.”

I don’t think it made one bit of difference.  But I felt just a teensy bit better.

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