I am genetically pre-disposed to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. I tried to rise above my biological destiny yesterday, and I failed. I can admit that now.
It seemed so simple a premise: In 2004, on St. Patrick's Day, I would not go out. I would not wear blinky shamrocks, nor any green, nor drink from a plastic cup. In day to day life, avoiding those things is fairly easy, so I thought, How hard could it be to avoid them on March 17?
Hard, people. Very, very hard.
Previous SPD celebrations have featured underage drinking (a long time ago), out of town guests sleeping all over my house, rescuing friends from drunken sexual encounters with strangers, wounds sustained while peeling shamrock stickers off my face the next morning, awkward explanation to bosses about why I needed a random day and a half off in the middle of the week, ill-advised cooking of eggs and potatoes lonf after midnight, and other such shenanigans. (Good use of that word!)
For the last six years, SPD has also offered the unparallelled joy of skipping to the head of the line, a privilege I enjoy because I Know People. (It's like being a Senator, only...drunk.) It's especially gratifying when it's raining. As you now know from reading those last two sentences, my joys in life are few.
So anyway, I definitely WAS NOT going out yesterady. I wore no green and made no plans. I woke up in the foulest mood of all time. I couldn't wait to get home and go back to bed.
Then I started getting calls and e-cards. More than I get on my birthday, even. My peeps know that SPD is my holiday, and I love it that they acknowledge it as such. Then came the phone calls. Leave work! Meet us at the bar! And suddenly, I knew. I could no more avoid Nanny's on SPD than a bird could resist flying south for the winter. It's my fate, and I embraced it, and it was good.
I even got a seat at the bar, and if that's not destiny, then I don't know what is. So hooray for St. Patrick's Day, the best reason for midweek drinking. What else could encourage me to go to my boss, on a busy day, and say "Can I leave early? It's St. Patrick's Day, and I need to meet my friends at a bar." I'll pay for that one. But I really did need it. I swear.