The day after

      Dozens of burnt out bottle rockets litter the yard street and the roof. Shriveled up burgers and the few remaining hot dogs don’t look very good but uncle Frank took one and ate it as he tried to recover from what he said is the worst hangover ever. He didn’t make it back around the yard to the gate before slumping over and ridding himself of that very well done hot dog. Inside it looked like the day after a frat party with litter and bodies just about everywhere you looked. Slowly the kids began to wake up, their rested bodies ready to begin another day of play with cousins in from out of town on their yearly pilgrimage to the fourth of July party. They grabbed the remaining cupcakes with the frosting licked off by who knows who? Oh, there's aunt Bev with red, white and blue all over her mouth, must have been the last thing she did before falling asleep on the sofa. Slowly the house came back to life with all hands on deck cleaning up, cooking a huge breakfast and trying to remember the night before. Uncle Frank was holding a beer saying it was the only way to bite the damn dog that bit him, offering one to those in need. Once everybody was fed and the chores done, the kids went outside to do what kids do while the adults sat at the kitchen mostly drinking coffee and having some good laughs as they began to remember all the craziness of the night before. I asked Uncle Bill about the bandage around his hand and he said he was lucky he didn’t blow off his whole hand setting off the fireworks. It was late afternoon when people began to leave promising to stay in touch and all looking forward to next years party. All in all, I guess this year was a success as I smiled to myself knowing there was a reason I quit drinking five years ago.
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