"Never let anyone steal your sparkle" Tierra (Crazypants) ~ The Bachelor
Looking back over past blogs I realize that I have written very little about the fourth of July. That seems really strange to me, it's my favorite holiday! I think it's because it's the only holiday where my Dad actually got involved, other than opening a gift, or eating the meal. He really enjoyed the fourth, and made it fun for us.
The fourth is also when The Brown Eyed Man and I really started our relationship. (Six years ago if you can believe it. Wow.)
I have a ton of Fourth of July stories, but I think we'll stick to the theme of "Sparkle", as in sparklers. My family knows right where I'm going with this one.
Once upon a time, oh we'll call it 1985, while we were shooting off some after dinner fireworks in the back yard, there was an incident. We didn't usually do sparklers at that time of night, those were reserved for after the city firework display. We would come home, light sparklers, and run around like fools in the pitch black back yard. However, this particular year, my youngest brother, "Bumpy" had one. He would have been four. Come to think of it, I had one too, which is why I was distracted.
I must interject here with the fact that I had a pair of brand new jeans on. I can't think of the brand name, but they were NOT cheap. They were the only ones I would wear, and I bought them myself from Maurices. My parents weren't forking over cash for things like that, and I didn't need them to, because I had myself quite the babysitting empire built up by then.
So there we were, frolicking in the back yard. I had my sparkler in hand, dancing around and drawing shapes, hearts, whathaveyou, in the air, and I stared to feel my butt burning. That little shit, had taken his sparkler and held it to the seat of my pants, right in the middle. When I turned around to see what on earth was going on, there he stood, grinning, with the sparkler (now kind of like a little torch) aimed at my posterior. It left a lovely burn mark, dead center, but didn't hurt me at all. Once again, Dad in charge........ My siblings probably just watched the whole thing unfold with glee.
I can see it all clearly. Me yelling, Davy crying and running, Jerry and Katy laughing, and Dad wondering what the heck was going on. I did, for the record, get a new pair of jeans, purchased by my Mother. :) David had a knack for ruining my clothing. Next New Years Eve, I'll tell you the sweat shirt incident.
Happy Fourth! Don't ever, ever, let anyone steal your sparkle!!
Looking back over past blogs I realize that I have written very little about the fourth of July. That seems really strange to me, it's my favorite holiday! I think it's because it's the only holiday where my Dad actually got involved, other than opening a gift, or eating the meal. He really enjoyed the fourth, and made it fun for us.
The fourth is also when The Brown Eyed Man and I really started our relationship. (Six years ago if you can believe it. Wow.)
I have a ton of Fourth of July stories, but I think we'll stick to the theme of "Sparkle", as in sparklers. My family knows right where I'm going with this one.
Once upon a time, oh we'll call it 1985, while we were shooting off some after dinner fireworks in the back yard, there was an incident. We didn't usually do sparklers at that time of night, those were reserved for after the city firework display. We would come home, light sparklers, and run around like fools in the pitch black back yard. However, this particular year, my youngest brother, "Bumpy" had one. He would have been four. Come to think of it, I had one too, which is why I was distracted.
I must interject here with the fact that I had a pair of brand new jeans on. I can't think of the brand name, but they were NOT cheap. They were the only ones I would wear, and I bought them myself from Maurices. My parents weren't forking over cash for things like that, and I didn't need them to, because I had myself quite the babysitting empire built up by then.
So there we were, frolicking in the back yard. I had my sparkler in hand, dancing around and drawing shapes, hearts, whathaveyou, in the air, and I stared to feel my butt burning. That little shit, had taken his sparkler and held it to the seat of my pants, right in the middle. When I turned around to see what on earth was going on, there he stood, grinning, with the sparkler (now kind of like a little torch) aimed at my posterior. It left a lovely burn mark, dead center, but didn't hurt me at all. Once again, Dad in charge........ My siblings probably just watched the whole thing unfold with glee.
I can see it all clearly. Me yelling, Davy crying and running, Jerry and Katy laughing, and Dad wondering what the heck was going on. I did, for the record, get a new pair of jeans, purchased by my Mother. :) David had a knack for ruining my clothing. Next New Years Eve, I'll tell you the sweat shirt incident.
Happy Fourth! Don't ever, ever, let anyone steal your sparkle!!
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