This weekend we went to the tail end of the Irish Fest. I'm mostly an Irish cake with delicious pipings of German and Scottish icing rosettes. So, when someone makes a comment that I am negative, alienating, and critical, I say its in my DNA. And, no matter how hard I try to gold leaf all the crap inside of me, it still smells like poop in the end.
Anyway, the fest was just coming to an end. We weren't able to buy any potato soup (mmm-mmm-mmm) or corned beef sandwiches. But, we were able to buy a bag of corned beef for Matt's meat fist lunches. I did drink a Guinness, and liken it more to a frothy coffee treat than a beer. I don't really buy into the kelly green shamrock bull crap. But, it was nice to be reminded of the Aran sweaters my great Aunt Mama Jim used to be able to pump out in a weekend. Instead of shopping, I had more fun watching all the aging Irish with hooked back and cataracted blue eyes shuffle around saying, "Huh??!?!" to everything. It's like a Christmas in the late seventies at my Aunt Betty's house. With close to twenty people crammed around the table.
All in all, a much better experience than German Fest. I told Matt, I think the Irish have a bad wrap. They like to have fun, but when you mess with their fun... Jesus Mary and Joseph up on the Cross, WATCH OUT! 'Cos, unfortunately, I think the Irish perceive most other people as screwing with their good time.
No comments:
Post a Comment