I'm feeling downright cheery today, because it's St. Patrick's Day, and as the Irish say, "You can't be unhappy on St. Patrick's Day!" Well, I don't know if they really say that. Most of them are too drunk every other day of the week, so I don't know that any of them can even tell it's a holiday other than that the pubs dye the beer green. Of course I'm kidding. St. Patrick's Day is a very important day for the Irish. It gives them one more excuse to put off drying out until the weekend.
We always celebrate St. Patrick's Day at our house by singing Irish songs and retelling Irish legends and downing a few vats of Harp or Guiness. Sometimes, when he's in the mood, Bill puts on a green bow tie and a top hat, takes off his pants and runs through the house yelling, "Always after me Lucky Charms!" Everyone gets into the act. His young, perky personal assistant comes dressed in a short, green elf costume -- complete with a pointy hat -- fishnet stockings and spike heels. She laughs and thinks it's funny as she chases him around the living room. Then they both disappear for a few hours in his office. It sounds like they're moving furniture.
Up until the you-know-what, I always made it a point to wear green on St. Patrick's Day to show solidarity with our enslaved Irish bothers and sisters, repressed by a system that values potato crops over lace and linen, which as you know, is very expensive and much nicer than the machine-made crap from China. As a crusader for human rights, I feel very strongly this must stop. Also, many people don't know that it's fine to wear orange instead of green on St. Patrick's Day, and that orange people have the same rights as green people. I believe I'm on record for adamantly advocating orange people's rights, but I have to check my notes on that. They might be with those fabric samples for the sofa.
Oh, diary, something very funny happened today:
Since I nap a lot, I really don't have the opportunity to wear anything other than my flannel nighties and none of them are green or orange, which means I was at serious risk of being pinched on St. Patrick's Day! Bessie noticed I wasn't wearing anything green, and already had a pair of vise-grips in her hand, ready for pinching, but I got her good when I showed her that one of my bed sores had a greenish fungus around the edges. It smelled sort of like sour milk and it only took one whiff of that sucker to instantly drop Bessie to the floor like a bag of bricks. I thought she was kidding, but Dr. Morell tripped over her later in the afternoon when he visited. It's pretty dark in here.
Other than that, I celebrated St. Patrick's Day by downing a quart of Bailey's Irish Cream I had hidden behind the headboard some time last year. I got a little tummy ache, though. I think it's supposed be to refrigerated.