4th of july, i cant really wax lyrical about a holiday dedicated to patriotism, however, i can get into the burnt meat in bread communion ritual. ever in search of a "first time", i attended a cookout at the park, where the ratio of under 7's to over 27's weighed heavily towards those with footy pyjamas (you guessed it, a work cookout on my day off, do i want them to like me or what?). there were capri suns and goldfish crackers in place of frozen salty drinks that could push your blood alcohol level over the age of consent.
women are rumoured to be able to cook, however, grilling is definitely not in the "girl handbook", although it is a sub-heading in the chapter on 'when to look helpless'; changing tyres, oil, wiper fluid, in fact anything to do with cars, including washing them. four women were in command of the grill. several trips were made to walgreens/kroger/valu-market for things we didn't know we needed; charcoal, lighter fluid, matches, tongs, chocolate for s'mores (yes, we should have our uteruses rapped for forgetting the chocolate). once we had safely negotiated the grill and blackmailed the children into taking a bite of their hot dog (what child doesnt like hot dogs?) if they wanted a stars and stripes cupcake, it was a free for all in the sprinklers, followed by time outs, tantrums and the confiscation of water pistols.
someone please confiscate my uterus.