St. Patrick’s Day Miracle!

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Okay, before I tell my St. Patrick’s Day Miracle story, I need to talk about something.  On St. Patrick’s day we went to an Irish Pub in a neighboring town to soak up some true Irish atmosphere and have some traditional Irish food to celebrate the day in the way that God intended.  So, we sit down at the pub and they have a “special” Irish menu just for the day.  I see all the regulars: corned beef & cabbage, fish & chips, shepherd’s pie, etc. etc.  Then, about 1/3 way down the page I see this:

Irish Nachos $9
A large pile of tortilla chips fried crisp and topped with homemade chili, melted cheese, diced tomato, scallions and jalapenos served with sour cream and salsa.

WTF is Irish about any of that?   Just because it’s St. Patrick’s Day and you put the word Irish in front of something doesn’t make it fucking Irish, now does it?  What’s next, Irish Ravioli?  Irish Borscht? Irish Matzo Ball Soup?  You’re a fucking Irish Pub – you know what you are doing is sacrilege. Okay, had to get that off my chest.  Now, back to the Miracle!

So later on in the day we had stopped by a friend’s house so he could feed his dogs and then we were going back out on our St. Patrick’s pub crawl.  We hang around the house for awhile, then someone opens a beer, so I figure I might as well have a rum & diet before we leave.  I’m hanging in the garage (some of the people were smoking and there is no smoking in the house) and I leave to go to the bathroom that is right next to the garage door, as I have been in this house many times before and knew where the bathroom was.  Or, so I thought.

The door was closed and the lights were off, so I open the door and step in… into a stairwell that goes down to the basement!   Yes, I picked the wrong door (it was the second door on the right, not the first) and went right down the stairs into the dark stairwell à la Wile E. Coyote.  The next thing I know I am crumpled up at the bottom of the stairs and everyone comes running to see if I am okay.  Not only was I completely fine, but I didn’t spill my drink. Yes, folks – my rum & diet was still in my hand and it had not spilled.  No one, including myself could believe it nor figure out how on earth it could have happened.  Now if this doesn’t constitute a miracle, I don’t know what does.

Thanks, St. Patrick!

3 thoughts on “St. Patrick’s Day Miracle!

  1. God bless St. Patrick and Tiff’s drunk ass. A true holiday miracle. Most impressed with the non-spillage. You make me proud! Had a similar episode that involved underage drinking, a farm field and a nearly full bottle of Mad Dog 20/20………oh, those were the days, my friend. Please note I also did NOT spill one drop. Ate a little dirt and tore the knee of my jeans, but you can bet your ass I did not spill one drop of the coveted beverage. Hell yeah!!

  2. Maybe the Irish Nachos include salsa verde or better, the sour cream had enough green food coloring to make one’s tongue go icky green right away.

    Now, that’s Irish! Glad to hear that you were not hurt in your fall.

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