The only green I wore yesterday was my coat. I forgot it was St. Patrick’s Day until I began receiving text messages from friends who love the day.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy St. Patrick’s Day. I had a good one in 2005 with Phil and Varv in Newport Beach, California. Last year I was working.
I worked yesterday, too, but went out with Martin after work to an Irish Pub. I was afraid it would be dangerous to visit a pub, I was afraid my fondness for the Irish flavors of Guinness and Jameson Whiskey would conquer me. And Irish Car Bombs? Yeah, those too.
I had a Coca-Cola, talked with Martin, and watched the strange collision of humans becoming inebriated. One couple sat quietly on a bench in the corner looking displeased to be there, but showing no signs of leaving. A group of four girls bunched together towards a wall shielding themselves from interaction with anyone. A girl bumped into me and apologized while blaming her friend for making her dance their way through the crowd.
The soda was good and it felt good not to go straight home after work. I didn’t talk to anyone other than Martin, but going out of my normal realm helped me to feel more social.