Belly on up to the trough!

We are gluttons. If there is one thing inherent in being from the Midwest, it’s knowing how to celebrate with food. “Belly on up to the trough!” was not only the command of the evening, it was a pretty good description of the night’s events. Yes, that whole phrase can be used as a verb. Trust me.

Neither Momma nor Daddy felt like rolling away from the table to go see fireworks, and we figured that Claire is too little to feel slighted anyway. We opted to watch the New York ones on TV instead.

 

Plus, we got a front and center show to the ones bursting right over our roof.

 

One of our neighbors needs his head examined, and he’s actually lucky my powers weren’t in full force last night, or he would have “blown himself up.” Because, that’s what I wished upon him…out loud. I understand that patriotism is important, but is it really important at 2am? On both the wee hours of the 4th AND the 5th? Seriously, dude. Knock it off, already.

 

Oh, and in case you didn’t hear me last night over all the loud explosions, “Happy 231st Birthday, America! You don’t look a day past 229, honest!”

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