Aftermath of Fireworks

I have retrieved my sun­burnt sam­bear! He is show­er­ing, then I’ll help him apply lots of aloe. He did wear sun­screen, but it can only do so much. The air-con­di­tioned truck that was sup­posed to be there all day was inad­ver­tent­ly pad­locked closed by the boss this morning—and the boss was­n’t able to open the lock. The food did­n’t arrive on sched­ule. Lots of mor­tar shells were left unex­plod­ed because R, the guy in charge, screwed up the set­up. Peo­ple with much expe­ri­ence in han­dling big fire­works were stand­ing around going, “Um, how are we gonna do this?” Boss and his son where nowhere to be seen. When R (also the per­son respon­si­ble for the lack of food and oth­er promised sup­port) declared that they’d start tak­ing things down in the dark with­out (appar­ent­ly) much thought to safe­ty, sam­bear wise­ly safeworded. 

I’m very, very hap­py to have him home and safe!

Ran­dom pret­ty link—it requires Flash.

Cyn is Rick's wife, Katie's Mom, and Esther & Oliver's Mémé. She's also a professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
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