Err and go Bra

Yesterday morning I awoke at eight in the morning, pulled on some shorts, and took my dogs for a walk. Down at the corner we stopped so that Chandler could play with Guinness and Jameson, a chocolate lab and golden retriever, while I chatted with their owner Mr. McNamara. When I got back home I whipped up some homemade corned beef hash with eggs for Mark and my house guest, Mr. Morrison. Later in the morning, after taking a shower and scrubbing myself with some heavily scented green soap, I put on a pair of green shorts, and a green Polo shirt. I kind of looked like a big booger, which wasn't what I was going for. No, it was Saint Patrick's Day. I was wearing the green for Saint Patrick's Day.

So let's recount my morning. I greeted an Irish neighbor and his dogs with Irish names, served some corned beef to my Irish friend, took a shower with Irish Spring soap, and put on some green clothing. What I wasn't going to do on Saint Patty's Day was drink one drop of alcohol. No green beer, no green schnapps, nothing. Not vodka, not wine, not even a swig of Nyquil. I am alcoholled out since Mr. Morrison has come to visit. It's not his fault, that's just how things happen when we're together. Besides, I don't like to go drinking with amateurs and Saint Patrick's Day is full of them. The kind of people who puke up their green beer. Guy's who hang on you all drunk, get right up in your face, and tell you crap. The drinker who falls asleep at the bar. I don't like them. So I yesterday I stayed home and did nothing, and this morning I feel great. We'll see what happens next weekend. I'm going to a wedding in Milwaukee. I hear they brew beer there.