Hot dogs. Cherry Pie. Parades. Fireworks.
I hate fireworks.
I know what you’re thinking. I’ve heard it a thousand times before. But I just don’t see the appeal. It’s loud and smelly and crowded and, well? Isn’t that enough of a reason?
Someone recently told me that I would like fireworks if I’d seen really good ones. Like the ones in New York City on the Hudson River? Yup. Seen those. Like the Baltimore Harbor from a 17th floor corner office with cocktails? Been there. The Washington Monument with all the bells and whistles? Uh huh; that too.
So when it started to rain tonight, I got all excited.
WE DON’T HAVE TO GO!
But wait. Andrew pulled up all the weather charts. The moving maps. The radar. “Lucky for us,” he told me, “the rain will be over in plenty of time to get to the lakefront for the fireworks.”
Lucky. That’s just the word I was thinking, too.