Well, that was some Fourth of July celebration!

I decided to power wash the patio before our BBQ.

It was a billion degrees outside, but the patio was shaded.

And I was working with water.

What could possibly go wrong?

My shoes got soaking wet, so I kicked them off.

And then I accidentally power washed my own foot.

OUCH!

Pro tip: Don’t do that.

Seriously. Power washers are for patios, not pedicures.

I’ve still got a painful red mark a day later.

Meanwhile, while we were getting dinner ready, Bob accidentally knocked over a glass.

CRASH!

Shards flew everywhere.

He dropped an F-bomb.

Of course he did.

Who wouldn’t?

Then he grabbed the broom and started sweeping.

I couldn’t resist pointing out to the Grown Son that this was the proper response to such an incident.

See, the Grown Son recently broke a glass and had an absolute conniption fit.

“Notice,” I said, “how Dad got over it and simply cleaned up the mess.”

Bob swept the floor and then I vacuumed to make sure the dogs wouldn’t find any stray pieces of glass.

As I vacuumed, I continued my lecture.

The Grown Son continued to roll his eyes.

Bob continued to laugh.

And that’s when the vacuum cord snagged a bottle of peanut oil.

CRASH!

Yup.

I dropped an F-bomb.

Who wouldn’t?

Then I started cleaning.

Because what else are you going to do?

But trying to clean an oil slick?

It doesn’t wipe up.

It simply spreads around and laughs at you.

I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, and the floor was still slick enough to qualify as an Olympic skating rink.

Thank goodness for Google.

Google suggested covering the mess with baking soda, letting the oil absorb, and then sweeping it all up.

Problem solved.

Finally, I hauled the power washer back to the garage.

It has wheels, but I still had to wrestle it across the lawn, open the gate, and keep the dogs from escaping.

That’s when I drove a splinter underneath my fingernail.

OUCH!

It suddenly became very clear to me why splinters under the fingernails have been used as a torture technique.

Despite all that, our Fourth of July BBQ was delicious.

The fireworks were fun.

And my kitchen floor has never been cleaner.

But next Fourth of July?

I’m celebrating from the safety of a lawn chair.

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