There are few sounds so grand and that of a hot dog splitting its casing as it heats on the grill. Even as a vegetarian, I missed hot dogs. And yes, I know what we don't know what's in them and yes, I know the barbarism of eating them But do you know something? It is a perfect summer evening I am leaning over the grill and the afternoons are long and hot. I have one glass of pink lemonade, and, I swear, it is sweating more than I am. It is a perfect summer day and this is my last summer, really; next year it's college, and then work and a family and all those grown up things and by the time I can really enjoy a summer day again is when I am weathered and bent and can't leap spryly at the chance. So I will eat my hot dogs and my coke-cola and everything that I am already nervous of, and I will slide down the waterfalls at Fall Run park, and talk to my beau until four in the morning, and throw parties with my friends around the camp fires, and go to plays, and base ball games, and concerts. I will do it all and more and revel in the sound of snapping hot dog cases.