Somebody could have warned me that fireworks cost a shitload of money. I suppose I thought it would be an inexpensive endeavor but it sure wasn’t. And it could have been a lot worse had I been more committed to generating a powerful night full of explosives for my kids. Thank God I don’t care that much.
I showed up to the fireworks stand about twenty minutes before they opened and leaned casually against the outside of the tent thingy smoking a cigarette much to the horror of the owner who immediately rushed outside to explain the dangers of smoking near shitloads of explosives. Right. Gotcha.
So, I moved fifty feet away and continued smoking innocently commiting to a figure in my head about how much I would spend. I committed to about twenty bucks thinking that this would get me a whole bunch of crap to blow up. Then, the stand opened up and I went inside only to discover that my twenty dollar pledge would acquire us one box of sparklers.
Okay, so it wasn’t really that bad but it was close. There were NO actual fireworks there under twenty bucks. Sparklers and pop-its and stuff were a bit cheaper but still quite appalling. I ended up spending about forty bucks on seven boxes of sparklers and three teensy, wittle fireworks that were intended for smaller kids to be able to set off.
I was irritated about this until I woke up this morning and realized that I could use the lack of money spent as a threat against my children. I didn’t spend a ton of money so I have no qualms against taking it all away, I told them. You will do your chores or you won’t go out tonight and blow shit up. Your choice.
Had I spent three hundred bucks there is no way I’d be threatening this nonsense. We’d be setting that shit on fire come hell or high water just out of the principal that I spent that much money.
This is sort of like how I am always telling my kids, “you’d better pick up your crap because in about five minutes I’m going to vaccuum and ANYTHING left on my floor is going to go in the garbage.” Until I look at the floor and realize that there is a PSP on the floor and that that son of a bitch set me back about $200. Fuck that. I’m not throwing away anything I spent that much money on.
And size doesn’t matter. I am constantly stopping myself from vaccuming up Lego pieces because I recognize the damned thing as being from a set I paid $80 for. If I vaccum up that one piece the entire set is ruined. Damn it!!!!
It is hardly effective to threaten my children when they don’t spend any of their money on shit. All I’m doing is threatening to waste my own cash.
I am very excited that I have finally found a holiday I can use to get things done. I want their rooms cleaned. They want to set shit on fire tonight. If they don’t do it then they won’t step foot out of this house. Plain and simple.
This is what I hate, though: They are going to make this hell on me. They are going to fight with each other and bicker and complain over every step of this process and by the end of it I am going to be balding and bug-eyed with smoke pouring out of my ears. It’s ten thirty in the morning and I already want to kick their asses.
It’s hot. Blech.