No Marching for Me

And here we are, it is already August, and we are deep in the volunteer Firehouse Parade season. You get to dress up in ruffled shirts and tricornes, march a couple of miles on hot asphalt, shoot off muskets, and tootle and thump on your fifes and drums. Then you get a "meal" of sorts, usually hotdogs, sandwiches, or possibly pizza. Oh, and you get the BEER GARDEN, which is the main reason that they all put up with this sort of thing, and lots of bad carnival food.

Tonight, the parade there is a parade in East Hartland, and everyone is going except for me. I'm going to my sister's house because her husband is ALSO marching in the parade. While they are all off sweating and such, we'll be floating in the pool, drinking Margaritas and eating perfectly grilled steak. This is what we did last year, and had such a good time, that we've decided to make a tradition out of it. What really made it more fun, was that everyone showed up all cranky and hot and cranky. Did I say cranky?

There is probably a word for having someone else's mild misfortune make your good fortune seem all the sweeter. Hal and Ollie probably don't know that word, but trust me, they're livin' it.

I am SUCH a bad person.