Sorry Ma'am

This is an example of fireworks as they should be - bold, beautiful, and suspended in the sky as if pulsing to the music playing in the background.



But when stupid teenagers across the street attempt to light up the night, stand back and take cover. Be prepared for Roman candle wars and creative lighting techniques that spin out of control and rocket a little too close to you and your family. In addition, the piercing booms of this pyrotechnic experiment will also go on well past two in the morning and later again, the following night. Just in case you didn't catch it the first time around.

I've never wanted to go off on a group of people more in my life yet, for some unexplainable reason, (shock maybe), I didn't. There was an automatic "JESUS!!!!" after the initial adrenaline jolt but that was about as much rage as I could verbally express. I didn't even swear. The day before I was accusing a ladder that tripped me up in the garage of being blasphemous to God and having inappropriate relations with my mother, but when an explosive comes careening towards my family and I, threatening to set us all up in flames, I suddenly choose to show some control. One of the tween punks repeatedly said, "I'm really sorry Ma'am" and just like that I became aware that I was an adult and they were just a bunch of idiotic kids whose brains still weren't done developing. They look done, but they're really only half baked, figuratively speaking. (Although maybe literally too, who knows?) All I do know is that my mothering instincts kicked in and before I could shout back, "What the f*ck is wrong with you dumbasses?" in front of our boys, the words, (in my loudest, most disappointed voice) "Yeah, well you need to watch where you're aiming" came out instead? It looks like somewhere between losing my virginity and becoming a member of AARP, I've officially earned the title of Ma'am.