Diary of a Curmudgeon

It's probably no secret to you that I'm no fun. At least, I'm not the loud, boisterous, crowd-loving, outdoor activity enjoying, up-all-night-sleep-all-day kind of fun that our culture tends to value. And, I'm not sorry. Sometimes, I tend to be a bit too cautious. And territorial. And controlling. And set in my ways, also known as, "correctly."


I don't know what I'm going to do when the kids get involved in extra-curricular activities that require me to act cheerful and pretend I'm having a good time for their sakes. I'm still hoping that they'll all be into the arts and I can enjoy their activities in earnest.
Given the new kid's energy level and preference for watching grown men knock each other down to get a ball, I think I'll have better providence with the other two.


Anyway, four days from now, we will celebrate our fine country's independence and I will become Grouchy Smurf.


There will be fireworks. I hate fireworks.
There will be potato salad and baked beans. I hate potato salad and baked beans.
Everyone will be dressed in red, white, and blue. I hate dressing like everyone else.
It will be hot. I hate hot.
We will sweat. I hate sweat.
There will be barbecue. I could eat my weight in barbecue. (For my yankee and Canadian friends, that's smoked pork with heavenly sauce on it, not hot dogs on a grill.)


Oh, please understand that I love my country and am very thankful to have this day to celebrate. I just don't understand why we have to set ourselves on fire and terrify children and dogs until the wee hours of the morning to celebrate it.
Mayonnaise does not belong on potatoes, and pinto beans should not be sweet. Ick!
And, at the tender age of 37.5, I am at least 40 years too young to wear the ladies' required uniform of a blue denim shirt with American flag appliques, and denim capris that are a completely different color of blue.


No one should be forced to sweat. Ever. It's cruel. It's disgusting.


Don't fret. I will have fun. After we go eat some barbecue (again, pork covered in yummy stuff. Not burgers on a grill), I plan to watch the Nathan's hot dog eating contest. Then, I will eat my veggie dogs and my salad while DWH has his chili dogs and baked beans.
After that, I will spend the rest of the night trying to get my children to go back to sleep and explaining that the noise is just fireworks and it can't get them.


Oh, and, Hey kids! Get off my lawn!