The Despicable Neighbors


Yesterday, here in the United States, was the birthday of our nation.  It was a day of hot dogs, barbecue, and fireworks.  Yes, we have the tradition of blowing things up and we come in large crowds to watch it happen.  We sit in long lines for hours to get a parking spot, sit there with our bowls of popcorn, and watch things explode for fifteen minutes.  Don’t think me jaded, I enjoy fireworks as much as the next person, however they lose their boom (if you’ll let me make the pun) on the 5th.  Yes, that’s my big issue here.

Last night I had to endure well over six hours of my neighbors loudly blowing up fireworks in my street.  By 10 pm you could no longer see the house across the street and by midnight the street lamp was invisible.  Yes, I endured it well.  I may have sworn and quietly tried to send mental daggers their way, but I endured it.  Tonight, while attempting to read the next chapter in my book, after suffering an additional 5 hours of their day old fireworks, I am over it.  I’m done with the booms and the bangs.  I sit here wondering if it would be an overreaction to go out front with my garden hose and soak their fireworks.  What do you think?


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