Yankee Doodle Dandy

So yesterday was the 4th of July, and I did what most Americans did.  I ate a hotdog.  I watched fireworks.  I swore like a sailor at the mosquitos that bit my elbows even though I applied 763 coatings of OFF on my delicate, apparently delicious, mosquito attracting skin.  Little bastards.  But then as the night wound down (meaning it was past 11 o'clock and I was about to get my jammie-jams on), I morphed into an old man.  Like I do every 4th of July.  And when I say "old man", I mean a person akin to sitting on their front porch with a hose, that sprays and yells at any of the little turds that dare step foot on the front lawn.  Except replace a hose with a bullhorn, and a back deck for a front porch.  You see, when the hubs and I got home I foolishly assumed that all festivities were over.  I stomped out any smoking sparklers, put the leftover poppers into the junk drawer for next year, neatly folded up my "It's AmeriCAN not American't" tee-shirt, and poked my dog to make sure that he was still alive after the sedative that was given to him to make sure he wouldn't die from fright.  And just as I was about to drift off to slumberland where I would dream about how I would successfully obliterate every mosquito that ever dared to live, *BOOM* *POW* *KABLEWIE*  Someone didn't get the memo that after the "grand finale" you are to retire your giant sparklers that go "boom".  One dog starts whining, and the other one gets the trembles, and I get my grandpa stance on.  I then proceed to stomp out onto my back porch and watch as fireworks explode practically onto my house because some folks want to see one more glittery poof of an explosion.  It's a terrifying sight.  Me.  With sock monkey pajamas standing firmly with my hands on my hips, and a scowl on my face.  I'm sure the people who were shooting off the fireworks were terrified as they caught glimpses of my "business face" in the sparkly bursts of red, purple, and gold.  I would sick the dogs on them but they were too busy having a mini stroke and a panic attack.
So next 4th of July you will see me twirling down the street with a sparkler in one hand, and a hotdog in another.  But once that clock strikes twelve, watch out, 'cause I'm bustin' out the hose. :)