the FIREWORKS STORE!
There was nothing girly about the place. None of merchandise took the form of something lacy. Nothing that looked like perfume, high heels, or strings of shiny beads. There were a number of items that could be said to resemble lipsticks, but were about eighteen inches long and had fuses on them.
I'd been told I'd find everything I might need to help create an atmosphere for astounding fireworks. But they didn't have any nice candies, strawberry cheesecake or champagne. They did, however, have an item that looked like it might be a gold-foil wrapped chocolate version of a jug of moonshine. It did say "Moonshine" on the label, too.
I also like models and I did want the folded paper representations of fire engines, race cars and helicopters. Can you possibly imagine all the workers being paid pennies a day to fold the paper around hundreds of these little toys?
I liked the little helicopters best because they seemed to be "mission ready," so to speak, but the race cars looked as though they'd suffered an immense pile-up in Turn One at the Speedway.
I saw a couple groups of grown men standing around, giggling among themselves as though they'd found their first titty magazine, fingering the merchandise like little boys plotting mischief. Well, the fireworks they desired were vastly different than mine unless, of course, Viagra and black powder are one and the same. Then the warning below could be used for both, especially if the "other caution" somewhere contains the words "lasts more than four hours."
Pshooey! Wow! Bang! Ka-pow! Zowey!
Three minutes pass and it's all over 'til next year.