Pinch Me I'm Not Irish-Revised
I was thinking of not celebrating St. Patrick's Day.
I'm not Irish and I'm weary of being a poseur. Why not let this day be for those with Irish blood? The rest of us can be a cheerful audience, watching with enjoyment. I mean, do I expect the Saudis to celebrate Pioneer Day?
But then I was thinking about all the hard working Irish Americans who helped build my country (which I know all about because I've seen Gangs of New York)(don't tell my mother).
So then I thought, okay maybe I will eat cabbage for dinner. In memory of them.
But then I remembered that cabbage and beef is actually not purely Irish.
I thought about wearing green as Chup put on his obligatory apple-colored golf shirt for work.
And that is when I came up with my idea.
To allow for my Irish friends to get the full effect of the holiday (and they deserve this) I will not wear green. I will not buy all the silly merchandise on the Target One Dollar Aisle. I will not sport my emerald-encrusted ring. And I won't count my technicolor, sometimes-blue-sometimes green eyes.
I am the original St. Paddy's Day martyr. My skin is offered as a sacrifice for your gaiety. Pinch me.
I forgot to warn in the original post that I hate being pinched on my buttocks. Want to annoy the goodness out of me? Pinch, slap or pat (oh, the worst being a pat) my behind. I'm not kidding about this one. If I run into you and you want to pinch me, may I suggest my forearm?