You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Luck of the Irish.
It’s March 17th, St. Patrick’s Day.
For some reason, that was never fully explained to me, I am suppose to wear green today.
I walk into my closet. That’s when I notice green is not a major weapon in my apparel arsenal.
I apparently am more of a blue man. I tend to have a lot of pastel blues. I am not sure what this says about me. I suddenly wonder if I am gay or just a man with a thirst for the tropics.
Hmmm? Oh well, more on my sexuality another day.
Back to my closet.
I find a short sleeve shirt that Sherman Williams would probably classify in the aqua blue world, but in the darkness of my closet, it looks kind of green, so I’ll put it on anyway.
For some reason, this lackluster choice seems tepid and I feel compelled to find another green shirt. I see a green flannel. It is a hearty woodsy green. That’s a deep ass green, I think to myself. That green will command respect, I think.
I put it on and stare at myself.
I am green. I am very very green. But why?
I’ve been wearing green every March 17th since I can remember. But why?
When did this start? Did my mother send me to nursery school in 1966 with little Green britches?
“You must wear something green baby, or you’ll get pinched.”
Huh?
Why a mother tell her baby that? It’s frightening, if you really think about it. Wear green or else….
According to Wikipedia, the bible of factual content that can be amended by anyone in the world: It’s customary to wear shamrocks and green clothing or accessories. The colour, (mind you they said, colour, like they are fancy and somehow better than us,) is associated with Catholics in Ireland. Why it is associated with Catholics in Ireland is not stated. Apparently there was only so much room on the internet for this Wikipedia post and that’s all the writers could offer at this time.
I google another site and apparently they paid their internet rent and offered this: St. Patrick’s revelers thought wearing green made one invisible to leprechauns, fairy creatures who would pinch anyone they could see (anyone not wearing green). People began pinching those who didn’t wear green as a reminder that leprechauns would sneak up and pinch green-abstainers.
And Here’s a St. Paddies Day fact lost on a nation of green beer drinking heathens: The Colour Orange in Ireland is associated with Protestants? They call themselves the Orange Order. Orange reportedly symbolizes their minority religious faction in this mostly Catholic nation.
Damn, the things you learn, just going into your closet on St. Patrick’s day, right?
Orange and Green? Now that’s a clash of the rainbow isn’t it? Green and Orange. It’s obnoxious. It’s like the tide coming in and going out at the same time. It’s turbulent and messy. It’s the equivalent of going to Sonic, eating two footlongs with everything then sticking your head out the front window and letting interstate speeds blow back the contents of your stomach onto the rear seat passenger.
Yek!
Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone.
Here in America, Orange is the colour of the University of Tennessee, where it is customary once a year to speak in full sentences without chewing tobacco in your teeth.
But I digress…
I head out looking for an Irish Pub. I set my GPS to find the first O’Sullivans or O’Kelly’s or O’McGuinness.
For some reason, satellites controlled by the NSA steer me to the mall and park me in an establishment called Jonathans Sports Bar, a dark watering hole that is to Ireland what Hawaaii is to down hill skiing.
We find two seats at the bar. The bar staff is wearing green shirts and funny hats endorsed by the IRA and Pat O’Briens in NOLA.
The room is dark, illuminated by 12 60-inch plasma TV’s all playing NCCA basketball.
The day is gloomy and storms are forecast. The crowd is a sea of white faces who all got the memo: Wear Green or Leprauchans will spank that ass.
And by the looks of it, some of these lonely cretins could use any form of human touch, even a good old fashioned Leprachan ass whoopin.
It’s at this moment that I realize there are many colors of Green in the world. The shirt I am wearing, which I originally thought was green is really seaweed.
The shirt I thought was kind of green? Well it is a color that Sherman Williams calls Seafoam.
It turns out that I am more prepared to harpoon Moby Dick than fight Leprauchans and Protestants, but again I digress.
As I look around at the beer swilling patrons in this murky NCAA induced haze, I see a kaleidoscope of green.
Chartreuse. Juniper. Sage.
Shamrock. Moss. Pear.
Basil. Crocodile. Pistacchio.
Who would have thought there was this much green in the world.
No wonder the Irish are always drunk and looking to fight.
“What’ll you have?” the bar maid with the lime colored shirt asks?
“Guiness,” I respond like I’m James Bond asking for a Martini Shaken Not Stirred.
She smiles. “Good choice.”
I am content knowing that regardless of the shade of green I am wearing, the luck of the Irish is with me. Today those nasty Leprauchans will have to go pinch a tobacco chewing Vols Fan.
Life’s Crazy™