Fireworks: a metaphor

It is a beautiful night, the first we've had in a while, and we have several boxes of legal fireworks, so Ryan and I go outside to sit on the front step. Ryan opens a box of snaps and throws a few at the ground. Snap! Snap! I watch for a while, mesmerized, then turn my attention to the colorful smoke bombs. I light a few, then go back to watching Ryan.

After a while, he hands me one. "Go on, throw it."

I take it, reluctantly. Having grown up in a state where fireworks were illegal, I've never played with snaps before. Plus, he's already thwarted my attempts to unwrap all of the snaps in the box and empty their contents into a coffee filter, creating a super snap. I look at the small, white packet in my hand, then toss it to the ground.

Nothing.

"It might be a dud," Ryan says, "but you're doing it wrong. You need to throw it with more force. There's more wrist action."

"Okay," I say, and turn to him with my hand out.

"No, get that one you threw off the ground. Don't waste them." He points to the un-exploded snap near my feet. I sigh, then bend over, facing away from him.

Snapsnapsnapsnapsnap! Suddenly, I am surrounded by explosions. I jump up and yell. Ryan laughs.

"Ryan! What the hell?" He laughs harder.

Later, I throw another snap that does not explode. I bend over to pick it up facing Ryan and do not break eye contact. He throws a snap at me anyway.


Moral: Some women date men that remind them of their fathers. I, however, am dating my baby brother.

(By the way, this is my response to this. Turnabout is fair play.)