Pity the 1/32nd Irish
So apparently, I psyched myself up for it so much that I jumped the gun. I'm 1/32nd Irish (my great-great-great-grandfather Thomas Hurley was from Ireland), but I guess the other 31/32nds of my genetic makeup won out.
Yesterday I woke up completely convinced that it was Friday, March 17. I decked myself out in St. Patty's gear - shamrock-covered tank top, dangly shamrock earrings, even green eyeshadow. Plus, blue jeans because duh, it was casual Friday!
I left for work, happily thinking about my distant Irish heritage. I had a package to put in the mailbox, so I stopped at the end of the driveway. I saw our and our neighbor's garbage cans at the road and wondered why they were still there on a Friday (garbage day is Thursday). Still didn't make the connection.
Then as I was picking my way across the yard in my heels, a truck passed by on the road. I thought about the men in the truck seeing me in my St. Patty's gear, and for some reason, a wave of embarrasment washed over me. Why? I tried to shake it off. Then suddenly it hit me! OH LORDY IT's THURSDAY!
Even then, I had to think hard to make sure it really was Thursday. I thought back to what I'd done and worn the days before (what I wear is always the way I keep track of days, weird I know).
I went back in the house and changed into something non-shamrock-related, then called my boss on the way to work and told him the pathetic story why I would be late. He didn't find it as funny as I did ... he wasn't mad; he probably just thinks I'm very lame.
So today, on actual St. Patrick's Day, I can't muster the same enthusiasm for "Danny Boy" and leprechauns. I put away the shamrock-covered tank top and went to a simpler green polo. I still have the shamrock earrings and the green eyeshadow, though.
What I wanna know is where's the green beer when you need it?