Celebratin'

You know, I never cared too much about the birth of our nation. I mean, don't get me wrong - I'm thrilled to have had the good fortune to be born in America - but I can't say I get all weepy when Kroger starts running commercials that manage to both salute our veterans and announce a special on seedless grapes in the same 20-second spot.

Since being on my own, I've revised my own understanding of what the 4th is to me. Get ready, folks, cause it's wildly frivolous (and you've come to expect that of me, no?).

You see, everyone I know likes to celebrate the 4th of July with outdoorsy things. Picnics, barbeques, parades, swimming pools, state parks. Hell, when I was with my ex, we had an annual tradition of taking a picnic lunch to a local park on the fourth.

But I no longer have to live a lie. I can finally, finally be true to myself.

Because, if I'm being honest with me, I hate:
outdoors
heat
bugs
sweat that doesn't result from illicit encounters
poison ivy
plants that look like poison ivy
rocks
dirt
hiking
picnics
state parks
grass tickling my ankles
worrying about ticks
sun

Oh, yes. I know how bad that list looks.

I will be at a parade briefly tomorrow, but it's only because I'm actually in the damn thing. And my hatred of parades doesn't extend to situations where I get to wear rollerskates and look cute.

But because I'm just me now, I can (after the parade) celebrate the Fourth of July the way Little Baby Jesus intended: inside in my dark, cavelike-apartment in my panties with the A/C cranked, drinking chardonnay from a box, and eating brie without any accompanying crackers.