America had a birthday over the weekend. She turned 239 years old. There were tons of parades, carnivals, fireworks, and parties in her honor, because America is basically a spoiled brat who demands that everyone celebrates her birthday but never throws birthday parties for us.
Just callin’ it like it is.
In all seriousness, I’m glad that I was born in this country. The more I travel, the more love I gain for the United States of America. And I celebrated my love of America by walking in a parade with Little Brother and my improv comedy troupe and throwing saltwater taffy at the curb (due to city laws forbidding the tossing of candy into the streets or directly at bystanders); buying a lemonade, a Philly cheesesteak sandwich, a frozen chocolate-covered banana, and a $1 ring at a carnival; filming Baby Brother rock-climbing at said carnival; taking Baby Brother to our mother’s workplace to drop off a necklace he bought her at the carnival; watching Phineas and Ferb; eating Chinese food; and by lighting fireworks and dancing to music in my uncle’s driveway.
All in all, I think it was a successful party for America. So I hope she’s grateful. Also, I expect her to do the same to celebrate my birthday next year.
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