I have nothing at all interesting to say about St. Patrick’s Day. I had hoped to wrangle it into a serviceable column topic, latching onto the timeliness of the whole thing, and then not have to dip into my well of mediocre ideas.
Except that the topic of St. Patrick’s Day is turning out to itself be a mediocre idea.
Sure, as a single woman, I’m sure you’d all expect that I could regale you with tales of debauchery and wild, carefree antics involving wearing inappropriate things as hats, or testing to see if watermelon burns well.
There are many roads that lead to a joyful, drunken stupor. Just a few steps further, there’s a narrow footpath toward suffering the same fate as a Spinal Tap drummer. The majority of these roads begin with the consumption of something much more flammable than watermelon. I’m a disappointment for those looking to have their antics vicariously through me. There’s little to tell. This weekend I have consumed nothing either fermented or green. I’m regretting the “not green” part. I really should’ve at least eaten a vegetable.
With the drinking portion of the holiday a bust, I could try and dredge up all of the other cliches inherent to the holiday for comedic effect, but, I remain unconvinced that there is any new ground to cover here. Is there any such thing as a new leprechaun joke? Haven’t they all been done to death? (The jokes, not the leprechauns. The leprechauns are fine, I’m sure. They’re all protecting their lucky charms and pots of gold, and doing whatever leprechauns do, making shoes or mischief or bad horror movies.)
Maybe I can find some snake-related material. I don’t typically find snakes hilarious, and jokes relating to serpents tend to turn into something less-than-family-friendly. Probably better if I save the handful of family-friendly snake jokes for Whacking Day (May 10). Naturally, if you’re not a native of Springfield, you’re probably thinking I’ve already bid the notion of “family-friendly” adieu.
In general, I’m in favor of wearing green. It’s a good color on me. I am not in favor of the pinching those who forgot to wear green. I suspect this horrible tradition was started by grade-school bullies who wanted yet another excuse to terrorize their classmates. And those rotten kids could really pinch hard. I think they practice all year.
I’m starting to sound like a St. Patrick’s Day grinch. I’ve somehow lost the true meaning of the holiday. I’m probably one “bah-humbug” away from a visit by three Irish spirits, each wearing different whiskey labels. They’ll insist on step-dancing to traditional music, while balancing baskets full of corned beef with cabbage and potatoes on their heads, and asking me about my boxty baking abilities.
I swear I’ve not had a drop of anything all day.
I might’ve underestimated that “nothing” I had to say about St. Patrick’s Day.