The fourth of July can be a cruel, wicked bitch of a tease of a holiday. Sure, sometimes it forms a three-day weekend but most ofter it comes, as this year, smack in the middle of the week. This sends the weekend warriors scrambling for their beer hats and dismays the true professional party-people.

The celebration ensues and, without regard for what comes next, people drink heavily in order to properly pay tribute to the noble rich men who founded our fair nation. Nothing says, “Thanks for the liberty,” like a batch of margaritas after brunch. And then, after the fingertips are scorched from lighting an entire pack of sparklers at the same time and the kids are safely in bed, drinking at least one six-pack about the legal limit before stumbling to bed really screams, “Freedom!”

Here’s where the cruel bitch of it arises, though.

It’s called July fifth.

Happy back to work!