It does not fail. Every year, the night before St. Patrick’s Day, I realize I have nothing green and/or clean to wear for the holiday. Of course, this played out true again last night. While I rummaged through my closet, my wife told me, “Y’know, we’re not kids anymore. You don’t have to wear green.”
Thinking for a second I might have been that poor kid in junior high who suddenly realized you weren’t supposed to wear a costume anymore for Halloween, I nonetheless continued my search, scoring a clean (but needing an iron’s warm touch) shirt with a suitable amount of green in it. There is something fun in the tradition of wearing green, almost as fun as the mass inebriation that has surely started at 6:30 AM sharp for some. I am loathe to remit it. It’s a small way for everyone of all ages to participate, even if you are in no way Irish.
As my wife left for work this morning, I looked up from my coffee and pointed out that she had a green turtleneck on. She smiled one of her smiles that must have charmed many adults when she was young, and walked out the door, leaving me with a goofy smile as well.
You can also browse through the Parlor archives.
Keep up to date with my email newsletter. Newsletters are sent at least quarterly.
Stay up to date with my Feed in your favorite newsreader!
Check out who is linking to me with my Technorati Profile.