I caught her this morning, right before we left the house, but she couldn’t give me any gold.
If you saw the state of her room, you’d understand—It’ll take more than a rainbow-powered GPS to find anything in there.
She did however, grant my wish and went back to brush her teeth, so we could leave the hat without endangering anyone.
The hat is actually my husband’s—his harmonica band went up to Chicago last weekend to march in the Elmhurst St. Patrick’s Parade.
While he was there, several people asked him, “Why harmonicas?”
His reply: “Because we don’t know how to play the bagpipes.”
Just as well, really. He practices at home.
They say the Irish gave the Scots the bagpipes as a joke, though the Scots haven’t quite seen the humor of it, yet.
But they also gave us flavored potato chips, soda water, and Guinness, so I suppose we can forgive them.
And if you’re planning on celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in the traditional American way, which my friend Siobhan used to find insulting and now finds endearingly hilarious—which pretty much reflects her opinion of Americans in general—here’s a word of poetic warning that she sent me yesterday:
Saint Patrick was a gentleman
Who through strategy and stealth
Drove all the snakes from Ireland
Here’s a drinkee to his health!
But not too many drinkees
Lest we lose ourselves and then…
Forget the good Saint Patrick
And see them snakes again!
Dunno, Vannie. Sounds like an Irish-American poet to me . . .