Considering I’m just a few days away from heading to the land of the leprechauns and liver failure, I’ve never had that much of a yearning for the Emerald Isle. I like England, I like Scotland, I’m pretty sure I love Wales but Ireland? Meh. Never really thought about it.
Nor do I spend a lot of time thinking about St Patrick’s Day. He’s like my least favorite Celtic saint (Saint Cuthbert of Lindisfarne por vida, mijas!) plus St Patrick’s Day is right up there with New Year’s Eve, Halloween and Mardi Gras as the most amateur of amateur’s nights. And yet, we’ve all been there. We may not remember being there. But we have.
I’ve never actually been slizzered (see! I listen to the pop music!) on St Paddy’s, but I have been the designated driver of many who have, including one person when last I saw her was licking a clown’s bald head at the local expat Irish pub.
So today Miss Plumcake wants to know:
What is your best, by which I mean worse, St Patrick’s Day story? Change the names to protect the innocent…as if there are such things!