That’s right: Paddy’s Day.
Or Patrick’s Day, if you’re feeling somber and formal and the likes.
Not Patty’s Day, which I recently discovered is what a vast number of American Bloggers (and most probably non-blogging Americans) call our national holiday.
Yup, you don’t see us pooing all over Independence Day by calling in In-Your-Pendence Day (yeah, I’ll work on that one…),but apparently it’s completely peachy to name our NATIONAL SAINT’S FEAST DAY after a frickin’ BURGER!!!!!
First they bastardise the English language, and now it’s our religion…
I’m sure the P-Dawg just LOVES watching 14-year-olds staggering around the streets with five gallons of cheap Lidl vodka in their pubescent bellies.
Oh and the classy twenty-somethings drinking 2 litre plastic bottles of cider in a field.
If you hadn’t guessed, I’m not a massive fan of Patrick’s Day.
In fact, I am the Patrick’s Day Grinch.
It’s just embarrassing that my hilariously quirky little country is best known for a one-day holiday whose chief activity is to get as drunk as possible.
I feel it necessary to say that the majority of Irish people don’t drink themselves into liver failure**, host all their life events in the pub or worship Guinness.
Foreign people need to stop worshipping leprechauns and wearing nothing but horrible shades of green on Patrick’s Day!!
No Irish person would do that.
Except tiny Irish children and the parents bullied into doing it by said Irish children.
T-shirts that say IRELAND or PÓG MO THON or GUINNESS on the front are only worn by really disgusting older Irish men with beer bellies and grease stains dripping down the front of their tops.
A little bit of green is acceptable on the day.
Singing some Irish tunes is fine and lovely.
Having a few drinks with friends and family…well sure go for it!
Waving an Irish flag at a parade filled with mind-numbing marching bands, terribly flabby gymnasts and the obligatory group of old people who are veterans of something is also grand and hell, it’s an outstanding tradition among generations of Emeralds!
But just PLEASE stop vomiting all over my culture!
Thank you for listening.
**As a matter of fact, I myself didn’t have a drink until two weeks before I turned 20….on Patrick’s Day Night to celebrate our college’s nominations in a national drama festival…..in Belfast…..those damn Nordies corrupted me!!
**Also, Belfast is a very creepy place to spend Patrick’s Day….it felt like that famous scene in every Western where everything is eerie and the tumbleweed blows down the empty street and you just know a big ol’ shoot out is around the corner. Well there wasn’t actually a shoot out…but the pubs and off-licenses all seemed to close REALLY early so it was KINDA the same.