Erin Go Bragh

Tomorrow is my favorite day of the year, St. Patrick's Day.  Years ago I petitioned my mom to let me change my birthday to March 17th in order to give the appropriate weight of celebration to the day with those around me.  She said that she worked too hard on the sixth of October to give up that birth day, but as the story goes, I popped out 19 minutes after she showed up at the hospital so I'm not buying that crap.  I was willing to age myself by a good 6-1/2 months just to feel more acutely the thrill of St. Patty's Day and force my loved ones to celebrate with me.  Alas, it was not to be.  Instead, this year, I guilted the fun, newly-married young girl at the office into going out with me on a Tuesday night. Mind you, we have never been out together in a social setting, but she is the only friend I have around here that is allowed to drink (yeah, I'm baptist). So tomorrow, I will be the freak in the green feather boa, drinking a Guinness and revelling in the sprawl of Irish heritage surrounding me while this poor hispanic girl sits in annoyed misery beside me.  I'm sure she is just counting the minutes.

I don't know what caused my abnormal adoration for this holiday.  I spent a lot of time in Ireland and loved it.  My name, Erin, is gaelic for Ireland.  Green is my favorite color.  None of this explains my absurd obsession.  Nonetheless, I will continue to weigh down the date with unreasonably high expectations.  And then, on Wednesday, all of the decorations come down and the wait begins again.  I'm sure my boss will be happy.  He has a hard time explaining the chick in accounting with the green pigtail headband, Irish flags, and flashing shamrock pen.  Soon it will all be over and we are just back to being in the middle of tax season.  Sigh....

Update:  I was just informed by my unsuspecting St. Patrick's Day victim, Savannah from work, that she and her husband made a pact to STOP DRINKING and it started yesterday!  So now, she is not merely tolerating my idiocy, she is tolerating it SOBER.  But I vow, like any good Irish-person to handle my Guinness like a champ and refrain from dancing topless on bartops.  Okay Savannah?  Will that make it better?  -- Ooh, or spike her water.