Kiss me, I'm Irish!
Well, I'm only a little bit Irish. I've got a few Irish drops of blood rolling around inside. (I think.) And actually, unless you are Spike or a child, I'd probably rather you didn't kiss me, to be honest. Let's not have any awkward situations, OK?
It's St. Patrick's Day!
People often tell me that I must be Irish because my name is Patti and my hair is red. But my name was a random choice. And my hair colour is also a choice, but not a random one. So neither of those things is proof of my Irish-ocity.
However, as the family stories go (and I'm sure my F-A-C will be happy to contradict or corroborate these details), three brothers came on the boat from Ireland. On the way, they had a fight, got off at three different ports, and never saw each other again. One of them was my great-great-not sure how many greats-grandfather.
Also, apparently there was once a small newspaper article saying that someone with our family's last name had been hung for treason in Ireland. No one seemed surprised. Obviously, the guy was a hero that took a stand against the oppressive Brits. Oh, those nasty Brits....
Also, one of my top ten favourite movies is Waking Ned Devine. So there's another thing.
So today - kiss the Blarney Stone. Catch a leprechaun. Nab yourself a pot of gold. Wear your green undies. Anybody can be Irish today.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
