Monday, March 17, 2008

March 17. Saint Patrick's Day.

The one day of the year when I can pretend that the fact that my grandmother came from Tipperary is actually relevant to my life. All you dillettantes, wearing your green novelty-shop suspenders and your green plastic hat, drinking your green beer and puking up green chunks, y'all can step off, because, genetically at least, I AM Irish.

That's why I make a point of not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day, because I have nothing to prove. That would also give me an excuse to go off on THAT person at work. You know the one everybody's worked with at some point or another, the busybody with a kitten-emblazoned sweatshirt for every holiday, who tries to get all pinchy with anyone not wearing green. Well, I'm not going to have my inborn Irishness questioned by someone who's as Irish as a bottle of Cuervo.

Today, however, the date completely slipped my mind as I got dressed. I looked in the closet, spotted a light green shirt that I like that I haven't worn in a while. Then I get to work and realize I'm just as lame as every Czech-African-Japanese-Latino who wears a green shirt but thinks Guinness is just a little too, y'know, bitter.

Well, bollocks to the lot of youse, ye wee gobshites. I ain't participating in your little greenface minstrel show. As the hardest working band in Dublin said, say it once, say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud!

I like "A Flock of Budgies."
*sighs* Yes yes, you and the potato blight...the only two irish things left in the world.
Is now a bad time to remind you that your last name is WELSH!!!!
Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?