"Ah, what a perfect night," Erin thought. BANG POP POP POP BANG. "(Beep)! Great, it must be, oh, June 19th."

I love fireworks -- I love the sight, smell and sound of them. They ARE summer, and every time I hear them, I can close my eyes and pretend I'm back at my grandparents' cottage in Michigan (back when Michigan and I were BFFs) watching them explode over the lake, around a campfire ... sigh. I love July 4th.

FireCRACKERS on the other hand? Firecrackers in mid-June? I can close my eyes and count to 110 and STILL feel like storming out my door with the TV blaring behind me, hair in curlers, waving a cane over my head from the steps of the deck, yelling "SHOO! You brats! You no-good hoodlums! STOP IT!" Then I'll mutter under my breath, "Playing with fire, those monsters. They'll wet the bed!"

(Sidebar: Why did my grandma say that to me? That playing with fire makes you wet the bed?)

(Sorry. Back to the regularly scheduled post.) I don't understand firecrackers on June 19th (or ever, with the exception of July 4th, when it's OK to make explosions in your driveway) ... They don't make pretty light displays. They just make bangs and pops.

And those bangs and pops, to myself and my chicken dog, sound like bombs or gun shots, depending on what kind of firecracker the neighbors on the next street over have their grubby hands on.

For the record, I don't know these neighbors, or even which house it's coming from. So if it's you, you can just pretend I'm talking about the street on the OTHER side of my house. Because your firecrackers probably sound like angels singing. And yes, I said that so you don't shoot them at my house.