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Erin Go Braless

Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day.

So I walk into morning report, as I do every morning. There’s six or eight people around a conference table. Everyone is decked out in their finest green shirts and sweaters. The one guy in the room has a green tie. I am wearing a blue polo shirt and khaki pants.

Everyone was incredulous. “Where’s your green? You’re Irish!”

In case you didn’t know, my last name is McCormick. Two “Micks” in there, you know, just in case you didn’t know I was Irish at the first syllable I hit it you with it again at the last. Mick-Cor-Mick. Irish-Guy-Irish.

“Oh. I didn’t realize it was St. Patrick’s Day.” I sat down to more gasps and guffaws. Murmurs and consternation.

“Listen,” I said with a pause long enough to get everyone’s attention. “There are two types of people in this world: The Irish and those that want to be Irish. Those that want to be Irish wear green on St. Patrick’s Day.”

I was promptly hit with about a ream of crumpled-up papers from my compatriots.

In the evening I mixed myself an old fashioned Black-and-Tan like you might get in a Dublin pub. I mixed one for my wife too. And Unky Rich. His last name is Kelly. He wasn’t wearing green either.

Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day.

Buy yourself a Guiness. On me.

Comments

BWG said:

You're not Irish ... you're the King of all Briton.

Posted on Mar 19, 2006 08:37 AM

Nancy said:

My maternal great-grandmother was Irish, but I just can't get into all that crazy Paddy nonsense. This year I worked through it, purveying retail beverage alcohol to the masses, and watching as the day quickly lived up to its more common reputation as Just Another Excuse To Drink.

We ran out of Guinness by 5 p.m. At the end of the day, I came home and had a glass of red wine.

Posted on Mar 19, 2006 11:52 PM

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