Safety Second

         I used to love the Fourth of July. Hotdogs, apple pies, baseball and everything all American that would make Uncle Sam’s chest swell with pride. But July 4th aint fun when one has been diagnosed with trigeminal neuralgia.  One single innocent concussion firework detonating can trigger an excruciating three day attack, even if one has earplugs in their tender ears. One of my favorite holidays turned into a night of cowering in the corner.

         My bodacious wife, Brooke, maybe a rough snooty Brit at times, but she was assimilating into American culture quite well. She had her Aunt Sam patriotic top hat on. My fiery redhead had streaks of white and blue to accent her natural silky red locks.

         Lady Blue, my only ex that my wife will talk to, was also in the Fourth mood as she prepared her pub for the holiday. She wore a camouflaged wide brim hat. She wore a grey t-shirt that had USA across her chest. She hummed a butchered version of the Star Spangled Banner as readied some firework mortars.

         I cringed as I saw Brooke assisting Lady Blue as she set up the evening fireworks outside Lady Blue’s Tavern. The voluptuous blue haired ninja loved explosions, the bigger the better; part of her ADHD. Never ever say, “Explosion,” near her. She’s known for tilting her blue head while sporting a blank demented look on her face. Her crazy violet eyes grew to spaghetti plate size as she asked, “Nukes?” Bluey’s track record of getting into festive holiday trouble was a great as USAF Major Nelson with Jeannie around.

         I nervously walked up. I watched them for a few moments, noticing that several safety protocols were being ignored on purpose. Bluey manically laughed as she put the explosions in their tubes.  I cleared my throat and addressed them, “Blue-chan, why don’t you two let others do that this year?”

         The ninja huffed, “I forgot how much of a party pooper you can be at times Ryan-kun.”

         My wife chimed in, defending her, bruising my ego, “Luv, relax. Don’t get your knickers in a wad. It’s not like we’re arming your classified fighter. It’s a little fireworks display. Have a little faith in the Company? (CIA)

         Blue enthusiastically shook her head, “Yes! Yes! Now shoo Ryan-kun. Brooke and I have important work to do!”

         I had unnerving visions of another multimillion dollar F/A-18 Super Hornet exploding over the pumpkin patch like it did five Halloweens ago.  I nervously laughed and chugged a cola that made Atlanta famous. I turned around and marched away with fake bravado as I sang, “Glory Glory Hallelu-jah!”

         I was at a safe distance so I stopped, put my feet together, and performed a flawless about face. I pulled an over the counter migraine pill bottle out of my pocket and down two of them with my soda. Ear plugs were safely secured in my ear and I was ready for the inevitable explosive miscue that was dancing in the summer wind.

         Something disastrous was about to happen and I was told to mind my Ps and Qs. So I did. Loyal patrons slowly gathered outside for the grand festivities to begin as the hot sun slowly began to set in the horizon. Thankfully my sizzling wife ran to my side. However, I still had that look of impending doom.

         “Ryan, it’s going to be aright luv,” she smiled wrapping a soft arm around me.

         “I got a bad feeling,” I replied as the boisterous crowd began the countdown.

         “6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…,” they shouted. I took a stepped in front of my wife, being the chivalric husband that I am.

         The customers cheered as the curvy ninja threw the switch, a millisecond later the tavern detonated, exploding into a bazillion pieces; knocking the red, white, and blue partiers flat on their bums as my wife would later say. A fiery mushroom cloud shot into the air, taking Blue-chan’s new insurance rates with it.

         It started to rain, but the rain tasted like a mixture of adult beverages. My stunned wife rested her chin on my shoulder as the rain continued to fall. She looked at the smoldering black crater that used to be the tavern, “Luv…how? How did you know?”

         “With Bluey it’s safety second, third, fourth, or last.”