Happy 4th!

It may not come as a surprise that my husband is a purist. He believes that certain days require certain routines and to deviate is the worst sort of sin.

The 4th of July is one of those days. In his mind, the best way to celebrate such a momentous day is by BBQ-ing up a lot of meat, drinking beer and then setting off fireworks. If asked, I'm sure he could ad-lib a place in the Declaration of Independence that guarantees his right to cook meat over an open fire and blow shit up.

So imagine his disappointment when it ended up being one of those horrible rainy summer days. It was bad enough that the 4th fell on a Wednesday this year, thus making a four-day weekend impossible.

He kept postponing dinner in hopes that the heavy rain and gail-force winds would let up. He climbed upstairs to stick his head out the window and would come downstairs and announce, "Looks blue to the West. I think we'll be okay in an hour." Then the hour would come and go and he'd repeat the experiment.

Finally, he came to grips with the fact that it had rained on the 4th. That he had been let down again on this day of all days. And, oh, the horror!

But my man is not one to let a little potential pneumonia stop him. He marched on out to the back patio with platters of marinated meat and grilled anyway. It was the 4th, dammit. There would be hamburgers, hot dogs and a few steaks no matter what.

As I saw him out there, getting soaked through as he turned dogs, I stuck my head out the window and offered him an umbrella. He declined. Because, as he said, that -- that -- would be ridiculous.