Not Your Mama’s Fireworks

A throwback to two years ago, when I embarrassed myself with inappropriate sounds of Independence Day delight.

We went to see the fireworks last night, all of us decked out in neon-glow-in-the-dark jewelry because my mom brings the fun and we know how to have it.

Peter’s sister Jamie is an administrative powerhouse, and she’s literally in charge of all the fun things that happen in our city.  Pretty much the queen of our suburban world.  After overseeing the day’s red, white, and blue festivities, she showed us to the best seats for the fireworks.  And just before the fireworks, she gave us 3D glasses to wear to enhance the experience.  It’s good to know people.

Believe you me, the glasses enhanced the experience.  I’ve never been high, but I suspect that watching fireworks through 3D lenses might be close to the LSD experiences that songs are written about.

The lights!  The prisms!  The rainbows!  The waterfalls in the sky!  Oh my great-day-holy-goodness-heavenly-days!

Our cheering was out of control.  My parents, my children, my husband – all of us.  I mean, were I not so swept away the whole experience, I would have been embarrassed by our sheer volume.  But I was too blessedly mind-blown.

I didn’t realize until later that not everybody was wearing the 3D glasses.  That’s when the embarrassment settled in, when I realized that we alone were having eye-gasms all over the open field.  We were losing our freaking minds over the whole thing in a very verbal way, while everybody else was simply enjoying your standard wonder over annual fireworks.

Here is where I insert a small sorry-not-sorry apology to the people seated in the tri-county area.

Sorry about that.

God bless America.