It’s Tuesday. St. Patrick’s Day is that magical time of year when perfectly reasonable adults suddenly believe that wearing a neon-green hat shaped like a shamrock and drinking suspiciously dyed green beer is totally normal behavior. It’s the one day on the calendar when heritage becomes extremely flexible. No matter where your family actually came from, everyone suddenly discovers they’re at least “a little bit Irish.” That guy whose last name is Johnson? Irish today. The woman with the thick Italian accent? Definitely Irish until midnight. By mid-afternoon the bars are packed, the bagpipes are playing somewhere in the distance, and no one is feeling any pain—at least not until tomorrow.
Saint Patrick’s Day
It’s Tuesday. St. Patrick’s Day is that magical time of year when perfectly reasonable adults suddenly believe that wearing a neon-green hat shaped like a shamrock and drinking suspiciously dyed green beer is totally normal behavior. It’s the one day on the calendar when heritage becomes extremely flexible. No matter where your family actually came from, everyone suddenly discovers they’re at least “a little bit Irish.” That guy whose last name is Johnson? Irish today. The woman with the thick Italian accent? Definitely Irish until midnight. By mid-afternoon the bars are packed, the bagpipes are playing somewhere in the distance, and no one is feeling any pain—at least not until tomorrow.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone!
-keep