We are so not Irish and it shows in our St. Patrick's Day. Korean food for dinner, and then we stayed off the roads because it doesn't make sense to be driving around on holidays that involve a lot of alcohol consumption.
I didn't wear green. Oz wore an olive sweater, but that's as close as he got.
For entertainment we watched sumo. The novel I finished was set in England, the novel I started was set in Scotland. I imbibed a wee dram of Scotch whisky.
Yep, St. Patrick's Day is not a big thing for us. It's not like we're Irish anyway, though I suspect a few of Oz's ancestors were run out of Ireland at some point in the distant past. That's about as close as we can get, and his ancestors were run out of a lot of places.
As of this evening and after a quiet weekend of doing chores and goofing off, Oz has spring fever. After dinner, he laid down in bed and asked for a thermometer (after looking for the thermometer on his own and giving up, which is fine because it was in no place he'd ever look). I didn't think his forehead felt hot, but it turned out he's about one degree above normal. Poor baby! He must have overdone today when he was running the vacuum. Then he wanted some Tylenol. "There's some *dainty invalid cough* over on the vanity." I should note that I started the dainty cough thing, with the back of one hand pressed to my forehead, of course.
Probably a deficiency of beer and potatoes.
270 words | March 18, 2007 11:03 PM | Real true story