Crowds...

are a lot like cages, and I'm not particularly fond of being trapped in them.

The extent of our 4th of July celebrations for the past several years has been to drive to an elevated area in a less than desirable neighborhood thirty minutes before showtime to watch the fireworks from afar. Afar, in the sense that when the last explosion lights up the sky, we aren't stuck for an hour in the mass exodus of traffic congestion that accompanies every government holiday in an overcrowded city like mine.

I suppose it's safe to say that I've become fairly anti-social and slightly unpatriotic on this holiday, though we've always made an effort to blare our country music during showtime with the car windows rolled down to validate our patriotic enthusiasm in the company of fifteen or so other lonely vehicles whose passengers, more than likely, agree with my philosophy regarding crowds and cages.

The news reports merely confirmed my anxiety after hearing that more than half a million people would plant themselves along our city's beaches, and that it would cost us taxpayers more than half a million dollars to clean up their trash the following day. Trash in a big city is not paper cups and dirty napkins. It's more like dilapidated couches, cushions, and recliners that will have to be hauled away in a moving van.

So when I announced early in the afternoon that I wanted to see the fireworks this year directly from a launching pad...my children were somewhat shocked, which abruptly turned into excitement as I silently hoped that driving inland, away from the ocean, might create a little space between us and the hundreds of thousands of people I desperately wanted to avoid.











I forgot that I wanted to avoid the heat, too, but I didn't remember to bring our umbrella, so while I suffered in 90 degree temps waiting for the sun to go down...

my children waited to go down the slide which helped them forget about their unfortunate circumstances brought about by their mother's senility.

And of course, what 4th of July celebration would be complete without an official game of egg toss? That's about the time I realized how unprepared I was to deal with a disaster of any kind, let alone, the slimy yellow yoke kind that not only required my full knowledge of the activity beforehand, but also my consent.

I said yes without thinking, then changed my mind a few minutes later upon watching the under age five group hurl their eggs at each other, then said yes again after I realized how much I was mistreating my children.

"I know why Mom never brings us to these things. I'm not even allowed to PLAY with eggs at home and now I get to TOSS them at my sister."



"Oh, no...LOOK OUT! What is wrong with that girl! She just threw her egg right on my sister."






"Listen. While mom was trying to tidy you up, everyone else broke their eggs. And since I still had mine, we won first prize!"

Guess who lost this toss?

I'm pretty sure that I've majorly sabotaged future fireworks celebrations in that undesirable, but very uncrowded neighborhood we use to go to since my children tried to persuade me during the car ride home to confirm our plans to go back to a designated launching pad again next year.

Sounds like a trap if you ask me. Fortunately, I don't do holidays in advance.