Paperwork aside, I really love France. But that doesn’t mean I like it better than America. In America, we have the fourth of July, which is all about patriotism: drinking cheap beer, BBQ-ing, being outside, and blowing things up. In my circle of friends (and relatives), the preferred methodology for the latter involves dangerous amounts of fireworks designed to be relatively safe for children and lots of packing tape.
Last fourth of July, I was in France, and so I missed out on these star-spangled festivities. This year, however, we did it right, and by ‘did it right’ I mean this:
And several of these:And inevitably, when you combine copious amounts of champagne and sparklers, someone is bound to get hurt. Surprisingly, Dave didn’t injure himself blowing the sparkler bombs up, but rather just while lighting a couple to spin around with and, like, write his name in the sky.
Several badly singed fingers later, we were on the phone with medical authorities (that would be our friend Tim who is in med school) and Dave had his hand permanently dunked in a bowl of ice water.
Fun continued in spite of Dave’s new status as burn victim, and I went to sleep shortly thereafter. I should have had some more water before going to bed, because apparently I went thirsty.
Evidently, around four in the morning, Dave got up to go to the bathroom and left the light on. This pulled me just enough out of my deep slumber to recognize that I was thirsty. I ignored the large bottle of water next to me, and apparently dragged myself to the other side of the bed.
Fortunately Dave came back before I finished the deed, but not in time to stop me from DRINKING HIS FINGER WATER, holding the bowl up to my face like I was slurping the milk after finishing my Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
So Happy Fourth of July, everyone. Here’s to being American, and to accidentally doing really gross things in your sleep.