It’s almost St. Patty’s day here in the United States. In addition, I’m sitting in St. Paul, where
this is as close to the Irish as we can get, short of going to Ireland. (At
least that’s what I choose to believe because I don’t really know any better or
more) I really wonder what the celebration is like in Ireland. I’m not big on
crowds, so I’d probably just want pictures or videos, but I think it would still
be cool to see.
I think back on the St. Patrick’s Days of my youth. I’ve
never been big on crowds or “young” places, even when I was young. In fact, my
best friend would often roll her eyes at me when she would ask me what I was
wearing when planning to go out (cause you have to coordinate with your
girlfriends, I guess) and my response was always, or generally, flannel and
jeans. Like I gave a crap.
Anyhoo, there was a time or two when I allowed myself to be
dragged out to downtown during this most holy of drinking days. I even took a day off from work for the
adventure on the most memorable one. My step dad drove me down to St. Paul, so
I could leave my car at their place and take a cab back when I was done. I met
my best friend and for the most part, it went okay. I was dressier than usual. A pretty, blue zip up hoodie and jeans…no
flannel and no green. (I don’t recall
being pinched once. I should be either relieved or insulted).
We stopped at our favorite place. A bar we frequented every
Thursday with my bestie’s family. Unbeknownst to me, they had recently expanded
the place. I had maybe had a couple of drinks at that point and I had a full
beer in my hands. (Did I mention I
always wear high heels?) I see the new addition of the bar and excitedly we
head over to check it out. It really was my fault for not looking down when
walking to the other side of the room because as I crossed into the new are, I
lose my footing and I plunge to the earth.
I sit there (I landed square on my butt), drink in hand,
looking bewildered. How on earth did this happen? That’s when I see the step that has yellow
caution tape on it. Useful, on the ground. I mean it’s a bar, you need
better signage for drunk people, I think.
My thoughts of warning labels and embarrassment are stifled
when I notice that people are cheering and clapping. I’m confused and
hurt. Are they teasing me because I
fell? Not polite, if you ask me.
I stand up, with some help from my friend and I ask one of
the applauders, “Why are you guys clapping?” I wonder if I looked angry at that
point. He looks at me surprised, points at my hand, and says, “Cause, you didn’t
spill your drink!”
I play back all the events in my mind and realize, huh, I
had a glass of beer, not a bottle, and it was literally full. Not one drop had come out of said glass and I
landed square on my butt. To this day,
over 10 years later, I’m still not sure how I managed to accomplish that feat.
Now at this age, (I’m pretty sure I mentioned it in
yesterday’s post and it actually hurt a little to type it out), I look at what
I have planned on this green day and it really (for the most part) includes
avoiding the bars at all costs. It’s not the age because I have friends my age
that want to go out. I’m just reverting
to not wanting to be in big crowds and I’m old enough not to care if I say no
to my friends.
And I’m not single, so I’m not looking for man meat…so why
not stay home in the comfort of my own home? Safe from scores of people and
steps I won’t see and stalker fire fighters…but that story I’ll save for
another day this week before the holiday has passed us by.
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