Thursday, March 17, 2011
Erin Go Bra-less
I really hate living in New York City two days out of every year. The first is on New Years Eve, and the second is Saint Patrick's Day. You'd think I'd be a huge fan of these holidays and their accompanying drunken debauchery, but instead I like to pull the shades and wait for them to pass like a bad storm. A bad storm that sings Danny Boy at the top of their lungs until about 2 AM in the morning.
One Saint Patrick's Day long ago when Sexy Husband O Mine and I lived on the Upper East Side, we were returning from someplace in the evening in our little car and turned the corner onto 85th street just as a drunken figure stumbled out into the crosswalk and into our path. As SHOM hit the brakes, the swaying figure reached behind him and pulled out a revolver and aimed it at our windshield. It was an off duty policeman, and we were driving through a vortex of Irish bars on the Upper East Side, where many an Irish cop went to celebrate after marching in the parade.
We didn't die. I think he stumbled to the other side of the street and threw up in the corner mailbox.
Anyway, Happy Drink Green Beer Til You Get Stupid Day.