I'm not a summer holiday person. I think I used to be, but I would just get way too excited for things that ended up being lame. For example, in high school someone would usually throw a Memorial/Labor/Independence Day party. I'd get it in my head that I'd look uncharacteristically hot that day, get a sweet tan, and fall in love with a super sexy dude from some other high school. None of these things would happen. Instead, I'd just try to stay out of the boys' way while they attempted to tear each others' boardshorts off, the way I assume all normal, heterosexual, teenage males do. Inevitably, I'd spend the rest of the night nursing my sunburn and swearing I didn't see Chris VanWagoner's penis.
This disappointment must have followed me into adulthood, because on Monday morning, the most exciting thing I could think of to do was sleep until 3pm. Which I totally did. I didn't even get out of bed to take off my sweaty jammies. I just kept sleeping in them, despite the fact that it was a balmy 94 degrees inside my house and my clothes were sticking to me. Rob must have almost seen some guy's weiner in high school, too, because he was 100% OK with not doing anything for the 4th of July. Apparently, sleeping and sweating is what we Whalens do best!
As anyone who has ever tried to sleep all day knows, you have to wake up for a few hours if you want to be able to go back to sleep. So Rob and I decided to tackle the mountain of junk mail that we'd amassed during a week of being out of town. Somewhere in the stack, Rob found a mailer from the downtown Nissan dealership advertising free movie tickets for anyone who came down to take a test drive over the holiday weekend. Wait...what?! Free movie tickets? Done. I don't care if I have to change a hobo's dirty diaper. There is almost nothing I won't do for free movie tickets.
So down to the dealership we drove. The car looked exceptionally disgusting, too, which I figured could only make the situation look more authentic. A young couple, looking dirty and disheveled, arriving in a car that appears to be cobbled together with bird excrement...there is no way these people aren't driving out of here in a new Maxima!
Twenty minutes later, we were back on the 110, free movie tickets in hand, speeding away like bandits. We were like Bonnie and Clyde in there—a well-oiled machine—asking questions and engaging as if we could actually afford to buy a new car. It was my spontaneous stroke of genius that got us out of there smoothly. "We just haven't decided if we're going to go with another sedan or if we're going to buckle and get a minivan. Right, honey?"
After a quick stop at the dollar store for delicious contraband, we were in the theater enjoying Super 8. Cheapest movie date ever. All it cost was about $6 for candy and all of our integrity. But the way I see it, our forefathers fought for my right to swindle a car dealership into giving me free stuff instead of watching fireworks. Thank you, forefathers. And thank you, America!