How Can A Four Day Week Be So Loooooooong?
Because I am kind and generous, I will let you off the hook and answer my own question: turns out, a four day week can be REALLY FUCKING LONG when you have to pack eleventeen days worth of work into 96 hours. THAT IS HOW.
It boggles the mind! It boggles physics! Physics is sufficiently boggled! And yet, somehow, it is being done, by Yours Truly, who would really like to just, you know, finish these briefs and SLEEP ALREADY.
But, still. I am nonetheless thankful for my Monday off, even if it meant that my work load quadrupled on the remaining days, because WHAT'S NOT TO LIKE about a 4th of July weekend that is defined by prolonged bouts of RAIN? WHO DOES NOT LOVE THAT? WE LOVE THAT!
SO, my big plans for getting all tan and golden and cute (which is so bad for me, I know, and I am sure previous attempts at this will ultimately lead to my nose falling directly off of my face) were cancelled, apparently by God, because it is evidently His wish that my skin remain the color of "Fish, Dead" for the duration.
Still, though, we managed to have fun, even if that meant that we played an excessive number of card games, and drank approximately seventy-four hundred bottles of wine, and looked out at the gloom, because we were ALL TOGETHER, AND THAT IS ALL THAT MATTERS!
(That, and not being at work on Monday. Yay!)
Oh, except, ACTUALLY, we were NOT all together, because Dukay, who apparently has "Wish, Death," decided to fly on one of those itty bitty made-of-almost-paper airplanes with his friend on Sunday, and they went to Charleston, leaving me DATELESS for the actual 4th. Dateless, but surrounded by other couples, including my parents, and all of them proceeded to be cute and cuddly and PEOPLE, HAVE YOU NO SHAME?
Not that I am...bitter.
Anyway. It was a fun weekend, though. In part because, on Saturday morning, Dukay and I got up and drove to Alabama, where we purchased about seven million dollars worth of fireworks. From people with a minimum of fingers on their hands.
Y'all, I am not kidding. Nothing inspires confidence like buying fireworks FROM A MAN WITH NO THUMBS.
"Think this is safe?" I asked him. "Sure it's safe!" he assured us.
OF COURSE IT IS, MAN WITH NO THUMBS! Honestly, Legislators, why are these things illegal in my home state? Please get on that immediately.
ANYWAY. We have...kind of a bad history with fireworks. The last time Dukay purchased them, he was struck by the brilliant idea to set the things off at, oh, I'd say, about ONE IN THE MORNING at my parents' lakehouse. This would have been fine, except for, well, THE NEIGHBORS, who had been sleeping, and who were NOT PLEASED, OH NO, NOT HAPPY, and who came out on their porches with actual shotguns and screamed at us to (and I quote) "KNOCK IT OFF GODDAMN IT RIGHT THIS SECOND YOU GODDAMN FUCKERS BEFORE I SHOOT YOU ALL."
When people start yelling, know what I do? I run.
And leave Dukay there to deal with things, while I sit inside the house with all the doors locked, acting all innocent, like I had absolutely no part in that madness, and NO IT WAS NOT ME who lit that last one. Nope. Your eyes are lying to you. Look at my thumbs! One, two. ALL PRESENT AND ACCOUNTED FOR.
So, learning from our mistakes, we decided to set off the fireworks at a much earlier hour on Saturday night. And my dad set off a bunch of them on our dock, and we all Oohed and Ahhed appropriately, but then it was time for...The Box. The Box is one tremendous firework that weighs about seventy pounds and which cost sixty-three dollars, FOR ONE FIREWORK, and which was named, very appropriately, the Pyro Extreme.
The Pyro Extreme is the most firework powder...stuff that is legal in this country. It consists of something like sixty-some odd "breaks," which is the technical term for "explody things," and basically, you light the fucker and then you RUN LIKE HELL and then you have a show that you hopefully watch with thumbs intact.
So we made Dukay light it. And it started going off, and HOO BOY was everyone impressed, and HOO BOY did everyone continue to be impressed as bits of firework debris began raining down upon us, apocalyptic-brimstone fashion, ultimately settling on the roof of the dock and CATCHING FIRE.
Fortunately, this led to neither major property damage nor loss of thumb, because the roof of the dock is metal.
BUT STILL. THE ROOF. THE ROOF. THE ROOF WAS ON FIRE. That can't be good, people.
The Pyro Extreme was actually very awesome, and we were all appropriately impressed (those of us who were not saying, "Y'ALL, THERE IS A FIRE ON THE ROOF, DOES NOBODY CARE?" were maybe not paying so much attention) and it lasted for a while, and the neighbors did not even shoot at us, and we retained all appendages, AND ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, I think that makes for a pretty successful Fourth of July. Yay, Independence! Yay, still-attached-limbs!
So, I hope everyone else enjoyed their 4th. And I hope the rest of y'all aren't as crazy busy as I. But most of all, I hope nobody is spending this Thursday night staring forlornly at the burnt-out husk of the Pyro Extreme, hopped up on painkillers, and mourning the loss of their thumbs.