Some of us, we'll call us "sane" for classification purposes, have no interest whatsoever in going out tomorrow. Working up a sweat just getting into a car is not a presager for a fun day. When "Where is that handheld fan of mine?" overrides every other concern of the day, stay home. We can cook ourselves hot dogs (without burning them, thankyouverymuch) and/or burgers in air conditioned kitchens.
Oh, and some of us will use sliced bread in place of actual buns, because we were told it's not going to taste any different than buns we would be wasting money on. (They tasted VERY different.)
Last night, about 10:20, Tap woke me up barking at what I thought for just that split-second were gunshots. (I've been told that you will know when you hear gunfire. There's no mistaking it for fireworks.) At any rate, someone ultra-near this house set off a fusillade of fireworks. Dude. Glad they work and all, but NOW? And then came round after round after round of what I'll call mortar fire. Dear lord, it was loud, and it just kept going. How the people inside the houses next to him stood it, I do not know.
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