So, yeah. I'm afraid of fireworks. Seriously, ridiculously afraid of fireworks. As in, can not be in a room with a firework of any kind even if they were soaking in water. Crazy, you're thinking, right? But it doesn't end there. Balloons, rubber bands (that are being pointed at me in a threatening manner), canned biscuits, putting air in my tires - all the stuff of nightmares to me. If there is the slightest potential of it exploding, I am running the other way. The kids find this hilarious. The little sadists chase me with balloons! My shrieking retreats never fail to amuse. I have always been treated in similar fashion by co-workers, upon their discovery of my phobia. And, yes, it is an actual phobia. My sister is afflicted as well. Obviously this is discrimination of the cruelest variety. Everybody's afraid of something. How about if I started chasing some of my friends around with snakes or spiders? Not so funny then, huh?
Needless to say, this is not my favorite time of the year. Go America, and all, but keep your firecrackers. Give me some earplugs and a valium, and wake me up sometime next week, when all the explosive patriotism has died down.
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