How To Count Down To The 4th of July

Count back to last year. It’s midnight and you’ve been drinking since noon. You’re at the karaoke bar winding down the holiday and you’re singing a duet of Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own” with your best friend. You’re laughing and drinking and kissing, because, well, all adventurous women do.

Count to 4 years old. You’re curled up on your mom’s lap, watching fireworks at the local soccer field. It’s cold, and it’s loud, but you feel safe.

Count back two summers, to the one where you worked really hard to lose the weight. You were hiking every day, and doing hundreds of leg lifts, and counting very carefully. A friend tells you she thinks you’re too thin. You thought you might enjoy hearing a remark like this, but it turns out, you don’t.

Count to your first time at the rodeo. You’re 14 and starting to feel like a young woman. This is the first time you try kettle corn and it’s the first time you notice men staring.

Count back to inner-tubing down the river. You weren’t planning to day-drink this time, but it’s hot and you’re happy, and there’s frozen margarita in the Camelback.

Count to American Flag bikinis.

Count to the spiciest barbecue sauce.

Count to day drinking and paid holidays.

Count on America having something to fucking celebrate, ‘cause #lovewins. 

Love wins.